
jV» 










1 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

I 

I ©^ap^TZziitipiiriglit 

I Shelf 

I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




























V 


No. 23. 


June 7th, 1892. 


Price, 25 Cents. 


'Ehc Popular Series 

Issued Monthly, 


THE STOLEN VAIL 

BY E. WERNER. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY MARY J. SAFFORD. 

—AND— 

THE UNSIGNED WILL 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 

BY MRS. D. M. LOWREY. 


Single Numbers 25 Cents, 

By Subscription, (12 Nos.) $3 per Annum, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

NEW YORK. 


Entered at the Post Office at New York, N Y., as Second Class Mail Matter, 


THE 

NEW YORK LEDGER. 

The Illustrated National Family 
Journal of To-day. 


A Great Quantity and Variety of Reading. 

1 "'HE enlarged size of the Ledger in its new form enables the 
publishers to give such an extensive variety of reading 
matter that every number contains something of interest to every 
member of the household. 


T he following table of contents gives only a slight outline of 
the rich and varied contributions to the Ledger from the 
pens of the most distinguished writers : 


Novels of American Life, 
Novels of Foreign Travel, 
Novels of Southern Society, 
Novels of Adventure, 

Novels of Metropolitan Life, 
Short Stories 
Popular Sketches, 

Short Articles, 

Stories of Adventure. 
Popular Information, 
Household Advice, 

Popular 


The Woman’s World, 
Biographical Sketches, 
Explorations, 
Humorous Anecdotes, 
Poems and Ballads, 
Natural History, 

Home Culture, 

Health Sugg*estions, 
Principles of Etiquette, 
Articles of Travel, 
Historical Sketches^ 
Miscellany. 


T his is a variety from which all can make a pleasing selection 
every week; and, furthermore, it is ample testimony to the 
great merit and value of the coming volume. 

Illustrated Souvenir Numbers- 

F 'ROM week to week, the Ledger will be filled with the illustra- 
tions of celebrated artists, and the extra Christmas, Easter, 
Thanksgiving and Fourth-of-July numbers will be features of 
special artistic embellishment. 

The LEDGER is issued weekly, and the subscription 
price is only $2 a year. Send Money Order, Regis- 
tered Letter or Check, at our risk, to 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York City. 


TRUE DAUGHTER 

OF HARTENSTEIN. 

^ ^oucl. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 

BY MARY J. SAFFORD, 

Translator of Wife aiid Woman f Little Heather- Blossom f 
True Daughter of Hartensteinf etc., etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


12mo. 350 Fagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


Miss Safford’s translations from the German are invariably in 
teresting. All who have read Little Heather-Blossom ” will be 
delighted with this exquisite companion story. The heroine pos- 
sesses every charming attribute of rare womanhood, in whom 
love is always the predominating motive. The scenes and cir- 
cumstances are new and strange, and the course of the story 
passes from one interesting situation to another, so that the read- 
er’s interest is never relaxed. This novel takes us out of the 
groove of every-day life, and introduces us to scenes and charac- 
ters altogether fresh and original. The weird and prophetic 
gypsy character gives it a touch of mystery. It is altogether a 
most perfect and delightful story. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

CoR. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


LOVE IS LORD OF ALL; 

OR, 

NEIGHBORING STEPPES. 

Noocl. 


ADAPTED FROM THE GERMAN 

BY MARY J. SAFFORD, • 

Translator of Wife and Woman f ''Little Heather-Blossom f 
“ True Daughter of Hartensteinf etc,^ etc, 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. A. CARTER. 


12mo. 350 Pagres, Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


The second title of this story, Neighboring Steppes,^’ indi- 
cates the scene of the story, which is adjoining estates on the 
great plains of Poland. The heir of a ruined and dissipated 
nobleman falls in love with the daughter of a rich Jew who has 
bought one of the estates of the family. The beautiful character 
of the Jewess and the heroism of the young baron are in refresh- 
ing contrast to the narrow pride and contemptible conduct of 
those who endeavor to break off their intimacy. It is a surpass- 
ingly interesting sketch of foreign life made familiar by the action 
of human passions which are the same the world over. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

CoR. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


THE STOLEN VAIL. 



THE STOLEN VAIL 


BY 


'I” 

'- 4 «- 


4 ^- 

A A.-' 

'iw, ' > • 


/r 


E. WERNER, 

Author of The Northern Light ^ etc, 

^ ^ , 
H 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 

\ 

By MARY J. SAFFORD. 




— AND- 


THE UNSIGNED WILL- 


9^1 


FROM THE GERMAN OF 

E. VON^HOLT-Z, 


BY 


MRS. D. M. LOWREY. 


/ , 


(T t 


NEW YORK: 


( JUN 9 ?CP2 •; 

X 




ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, /VcS'^ 


PUBLISHERS. 


'^A 


/ 




THE POPULAR SERIES: ISSUED MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, THREE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 23, 
JUNE 7, 1392. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 







Copyright, 1891 and 1892, 

BY ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


{.Ail rights reserved.) 



THE STOLEN VAIL. 


S, it’s perfectly true about the 
vail. Though the story is so 
old, hundreds of years, it will 
come true now just the same. 
You need only try it. If a 
youth has a sweetheart, he 
must steal her vail — a kerchief 
will do, too, if she is a moun- 
tain maiden — then she’ll never 
forget him. Day and night 
her thoughts will dwell with him, she can’t shut 
him out of her mind. But the vail must be 
stolen.” 

The speaker was an old mountaineer clad in a 
coarse woolen jacket and knee breeches. He 
had just related one of the mountain legends in 
which the Alps are so rich, and now, with the 



[7] 


8 


The Stolen Vail 


utmost seriousness, mentioned the old popular 
superstition connected with it. His audience, a 
young lady and a half-grown lad, listened with 
the deepest attention to the strange story, while 
the two gentlemen who were reclining on the 
turf a short distance off, appeared somewhat 
incredulous. The elder, a man advanced in 
years, with grey hair and pleasant, kindly 
expression, merely smiled, while the other’s 
countenance expressed the keenest contempt. 

Just hear that nonsense,” he muttered, under 
his breath. ‘'And the fellow speaks in a tone of 
the utmost sincerity. These superstitious people 
are a long way from the light of reason.” 

“ Why excite yourself about the matter, ni}^ 
dear Normann?” replied his companion, calmly. 
“ Let the common people keep the remnant of 
poesy which still lingers in their legends and 
customs. It is to be found nowhere else.” 

“ And it isn’t needed,” grumbled Normann. 
“ Life goes on very well without it.” 

“ Perhaps so, but we take a different view at 
twenty. I committed youthful follies and even 
perpetrated the offence of writing verses on 
several occasions. Oh, you needn’t be horrified. 
They were addressed to the woman who was 
then my betrothed bride and afterwards became 
my wife. Under such circumstances, even the 
man of science touches the chords of the lyre. 
But I suppose you never did so ?” 


The Stole^i Vail. 


9 


“ I ? What can you be thinking of, Professor 
Herwig?” 

Don’t be vexed,” answered Herwig, laughing. 
'' No one would suspect you of ' it. Well, Dora, 
have you heard enough of the wonderful lale?” 

The last question was addressed to the young 
lady who had just approached — a girl of twenty, 
fresh and charming in her becoming blue travel- 
ing dress. The light straw hat twined with a 
blue vail, which rested on her brown braids, 
shaded a rosy face with clear brown eyes and 
two dimples in the cheeks, whence peered the 
spirit of mischief, while her whole bearing 
revealed that exuberance of health and vitality 
known only to youth. 

Oh, papa. I’m so fond of talking with the 
peasants, and when Sepp begins to relate a 
mountain legend he finds me a most attentive 
listener. Isn’t it delightful up here? See how 
lovely the village looks down below us. How the 
lake sparkles in the sunshine! And it must be 
still more beautiful on the summit, whence we 
can overlook all the mountain peaks. I’ve never 
been there, but we’re going .to climb up to-day, 
aren’t we, Friedel ?” 

She turned to the boy, who was also dressed 
in city fashion, though his worn and shabby 
garments showed that he was a servant. He 
was probably thirteen or fourteen years old, and 
had grown up tall, but thin and delicate. Thick 


lO 


The Stolen Vail 


fair hair framed a pale face which looked very 
pitiful with its sickly complexion and dark 
circles around the eyes. Only the large blue 
eyes themselves were attractive, though they 
did not sparkle with mirth and joy like Dora’s. 
On the contrary, they had a very weary, sorrow- 
ful expression, though they brightened when the 
wide view from the mountain top was mentioned. 
The lad was apparently one of those poor, 
stunted denizens of the city, who grow up in 
narrow streets and dark courtyards, with little 
light and air or the sunshine of life. Probably 
this was the first time he had gazed into the 
broad free world of the mountains. 

He cast a half timid, half questioning glance 
at Professor Normann, who said, carelessly : 

Of course the boy will go. Who is to carry 
the luggage ?” 

I shall stay here,” announced Herwig. The 
last part of the way seems to be rather tire- 
some, and I hear that it’s a good hour’s walk 
to the top. You’ll take charge of my daughter, 
won’t you, my dear Normann? Pll wait where 
I am.” 

The young lady did not seem very much 
pleased with the escort proposed. The pro- 
fessor cares very little for mountain scenery,” 
she remarked sarcastically, with a toss of her 
dainty head. 


The Stolen Vail, 


1 1 


'' No, I’m not inclined to rave over land- 
scapes,” was the somewhat brusque retort. 

Then why do you travel ?” 

To pursue my studies in the natural sciences. 
That is my sole object.” 

‘'You needn’t emphasize your words so 
strongly,” cried Dora, laughing. “ I don’t 
suspect that you are ^oing in pursuit of a vail, 
like the young huntsman of whom Sepp has 
just told us. Did you hear the story ?” 

The professor was evidently vexed that any 
one should presume to jest with him. He drew 
himself up stiffly. 

“ if you find any pleasure in such children’s 
tales, Fraulein Dora — unfortunately, I cannot 
share it,” he replied, going to a rock a short 
distance off and taking from it a bit of moss 
which he carefully examined. 

“ Dear me, how ungracious !” murmured the 
young girl under her breath. “ Papa, you 
certainly chose a very disagreeable traveling 
companion this time.” 

“ Normann certainly is not affable,” Herwig 
answered. “ He really takes no little trouble to 
be the reverse, whenever a third person is pres- 
ent ; one must be alone with him to appreciate 
his true character. As I have already told you, 
his scientific work is admirable and he is in a 
fair way to become a celebrity in his special 
department.’' 


12 


The Stolen VaiL 


Dora’s face plainly showed that a common- 
place but cheerful traveling- companion would 
have been far more welcome to her than this 
unamiable future celebrity. She made a wry 
face. 

I don’t see why he must come where we are. 
Or, if he would only let mountain rambles alone, 
but he always drags after us and spoils the 
whole beautiful Alpine world with his sour face 
and heartless sneers.” 

Her father did not contradict her, for he was 
of the same opinion. Spite of his respect for 
Normann’s ability, his character was not fully 
congenial. His bluntness and neglect of social 
courtesies frequently annoyed him. Still, he 
could not object when his colleague, whom he 
happened to meet in Schlehdorf, and with whom 
he had for years maintained constant communica- 
tion in regard to scientific matters, offered to 
join him in his excursions. 

He shows that he has had little intercourse 
with the world, Dora,” the father answered, 
evasively. He is a scholar, my child, who 
thinks of nothing but his studies and is not 
accustomed to heed anything else.” 

No, that’s very evident,” retorted Dora. I 
should have no right to exist, in his opinion, 
were it not for my good luck in being my 
father’s daughter. I believe he would like to 
shut me up in some cleft of the rocks, and, when 


13 


The Stolen VaiL 


ever 1 laugh, he looks as if he would like to 
annihilate me at once.” 

The last assertion did not seem wholly 
unfounded, for the professor, who was now 
returning, certainly frowned very angrily as the 
girl’s gay laugh fell upon his ears. He was 
apparently a man of forty, yet he looked 
much older, and the lines on the high forehead, 
the stern expression about the lips, were not 
specially attractive. But what lent him an 
almost repulsive appearance was the shock of 
thick black hair bristling unkempt around his 
head like a mane. His figure was well propor- 
tioned and, spite of his severe intellectual toil, 
his physical health seemed perfect. 

I think it is time to start,” he said, curtly. 
“ So you mean to stay here, Herr Herwig?” 

'‘Yes, ril stay and chat with Sepp.” 

“ I wish you joy in your study of folk lore. 
Only pray don’t expect me to share it,” said 
Normann, with his usual want of tact. “ Come, 
Friedel, take the baggage. Are you ready, 
Fraulein Dora ?” 

Dora said good-by to her father, while 
Friedel took up a heavy satchel, the professor’s 
umbrella and several other things ; then the 
three crossed the pasture land and entered the 
woods which concealed them from those who 
remained behind. 

The path ran but a short distance under the 


14 


The Stolen VaiL 


shady rustling pines, then rose in numerous 
steep curves, and the sun beat down more and 
more fiercely. The ascent was toilsome, but the 
young girl did not seem to feel it. She moved 
with a light, firm step, and her brown eyes 
sparkled more brightly and joyously as the view 
grew wider. Her companion, too, showed no 
trace of fatigue, but the unusual exercise heated 
him and he suddenly stopped. 

There Friedel,take my shawl,” he said. Then 
noticing that Friedel was not behind him, added : 
‘‘ My ! what has become of the boy ? 1 believe 

he can’t keep up with us. He’s creeping along 
below like a snail.” 

Dora had also paused and glanced back. 

You ought to have left him with papa. It’s 
so hard for him to carry that heavy bag. Be- 
sides, the path is too steep for him.” 

‘‘Left him down there?” replied Normann 
“ Do you suppose I brought the boy for his 
pleasure? No, he’s to carry the baggage for me. 
I’ve no inclination to xJrag the things about in 
this heat.” 

“ But he is a city boy, and cannot stand climb- 
ing mountains.” 

“ Then he must learn to do so. A boy four- 
teen years old and can’t climb! There he comes 
at last, but how slowly he drags along. Hurry, 
Friedel 1 ” 

Friedel, who had really dropped some dis- 


The Stolen Vail 


15 


tance behind, slowly approached. The perspir- 
ation stood in big drops on his forehead, but spite 
of the heat and exertion, his face was deadly pale 
and his narrow chest heaved with his panting 
breath. Yet he obediently held out his hand and 
took the shawl which his employer flung to him. 

But Dora was not disposed to let the poor boy 
be so overloaded. 

Sit down, Friedel, and rest,*’ she said very 
authoritatively. You can’t go any farther now. 
Give me the shawl. I’ll relieve you of the 
thick cloth, if it is too heavy for the professor.” 

She actually proceeded to put her words into 
action, but the professor now seemed dimly to 
perceive that this was not exactly the proper 
thing. Muttering a few unintelligible words, he 
snatched the shawl from the hand of the ex- 
hausted boy and flung it over his own shoulder ; 
but at the same time cast a wrathful look at the 
young lady who had administered the covert, yet 
perfectly palpable, reproof.. 

‘'Very well, rest then he growled. “You 
can’t miss the way. Follow us later, if there’s 
nothing else to be done.” 

The permission was given in the harshest 
tone. Friedel silently accepted it, but the way 
in which he dropped down on a stone showed 
that he reall}^’ could go no farther, while Nor. 
mann, who evidently did not comprehend how 
anybody could be tired by such “ a little climb,” 


i6 


The Stolen VaiL 


stretched his strong limbs and strode vigorously 
forward. Perceiving that his companion cast an 
anxious glance back from time to time, he asked, 
jeeringly: 

'' Have you taken Friedel into your inmost 
heart ? ” 

“ At least I pity him ; it is hard for the poor 
boy.” 

“ Hard ? Why, I should think he fared as 
well as any youngster in his situation coidd.” 

Do you consider it a piece of good fortune 
to be an orphan and compelled to live with 
strangers?” 

‘'Indeed! Is the lad an orphan?” asked the 
professor with a touch of surprise. 

Dora looked at him in astonishment. “ Don’t 
you know that? Yet he told me that you had 
know him for two years.” 

“ Known him ? My ! yes. I know that he lives 
in a house at the rear of mine: That he comes 
every day to black my boots, and on account of his 
being so still and quiet I took him to wait upon 
me. My old housekeeper chatters all day long; 
her tongue goes like a mill from morning until 
night, so I never let her come into my study. 
Friedel never opens his lips unless I speak to 
him, so I engaged him.” 

“ Yes, I noticed that Trappist training,” replied 
the young girl with a touch of sarcasm. “ At 
first I had trouble enough to make him speak as 


The Stolen V a il. 


17 


he stood beside me, so sad and silent, watching 
while I painted. He is happy if he is merely 
allowed to look on, and yet his timid remarks 
often show remarkable appreciation of art.’' 

“ Appreciation of art ?” Normann shrugged his 
shoulders contemptuously. “It’s nothing but 
the charm of novelty which the bright colors 
possess for that boy, because he sees nothing of 
the kind at home or in my house. Unluckily, he 
seems spell-bound by your easel. Whenever I 
want him, he is over in your garden and he 
appears to have told you his whole life-history. 
Why not, if it amuses you ? But 1 have 
something else to do than to talk with my boot- 
black.” 

The scornful tone probably irritated the young 
girl even more than the words themselves. Her 
voice, usually so gentle, was unusually sharp as 
she replied : 

“ That would be expecting far too much from 
you. But my father, who is also a scholar, has 
often told me that we can seek and find in every 
human being the Prometheus spark concealed 
within his breast. All we require is a little heart 
and philanthropy — true, everybody does not 
possess them.” 

“ Aha, that is aimed at me,” cried Normann, 
indignantly. “ I suppose you consider me a 
heartless monster?” 


The Stolen VaiL 


Dora’s glance rested on him for an instant. 
Then, with unconcealed derision, she replied : 

''If that is the name you give yourself. I 
should have expressed it less bluntly.” 

This reply infuriated the professor. He again 
found himself utterly defrauded of the respect 
due to his years and his scientific attainments. 
He actually disliked this Dora Herwig. The 
pert girl of twenty had not the least respect for 
the professor, but treated him precisely as if they 
stood on the same footing ; contradicted him at 
every opportunity, and sometimes actually 
presumed to reprove him, and he could not even 
snub her, at least not so harshly as he desired, 
because she was the daughter of a colleague 
whom he respected, and to whom a certain 
degree of consideration was due. Normann had 
never been so much irritated as during this 
stay in Schlehdorf, where he had expected to 
pursue hisstudies wholly undisturbed, and where 
he was now entirely upset by this bjrown-eyed, 
fair-haired disturber of his peace. How often he 
had resolved to give up his talks with Herr Her- 
wig on subjects of mutual scientific interest, 
rather than let day after day drag on in this 
fashion ; but as soon as Herwig and his daughter 
set off on a mountain ramble he always joined 
them, only to be vexed anew. 

Poor Friedel, of course, suffered most from his 
master’s ill humor, and was now again to serve 


The Stolen Vail, 


19 


as lightening conductor for the tempest the 
young lady’s last remark had conjured up. 

The lad had rested only about ten minutes and 
then set off again. They saw how he was hurry- 
ing to overtake them. Suddenly he turned into 
a narrow, very steep path in the rocks, which 
cut off a wide curve. This movement vexed the 
professor. 

What possessed the boy to climb up there?” 
he growled. “ It’s only fit for the goats and 
shepherd lads. Friedel ! He doesn’t hear. 
Well, if you’re such a blockhead I don’t care — ” 

Friedel, don’t come that way !” called Dora, 
waving him back, but the boy either did not 
understand or was afraid to return, for the path 
along which he had advanced some distance was 
merely a ridge of rock. So he still climbed 
upward. 

He really isn’t a bad mountaineer,” said Nor- 
mann, who stood watching him. He doesn’t 
seem at all giddy. It requires courage to try too 
steep a path. I couldn’t have expected it from 
such a dunce.” 

‘‘ Friedel is no dunce,” said Dora, quietly. “He 
is only shy, which is natural for a poor, sickly 
child, reared by harsh foster-parents. I certainly 
would not permit it, if I only had him with us in 
Heidelberg.” 

“ It would be doing the human race a fine ser- 
vice to preserve so sickly a plant,” said the 


20 


The Stolen VaiL 


professor, without noticing the reproof contained 
in her last words. 

Oh, professor !” The exclamation was full of 
wrath and horror, but Normann carelessly 
continued : 

My ! yes. Is it any boon to mankind if a frail 
existence, which is not suited to the world’s 
work, is prolonged for a few years? Just look 
at the boy. He is a candidate for consumption. 
He’ll never be able to do the work to which fate 
assigns him. He’ll simply drag out a pitiful 
existence, a burden to himself and others, and at 
last die an early death. Surely the sooner it comes 
the better. Yes, Fraulein Dora, you needn’t 
look at me so indignantly. I am perfectly seri- 
ous. You, of course, view matters from the stand- 
point of what is termed philanthropy, which is 
all very pretty and pleasant, but unhappily not 
always sensible. There is a higher standpoint, 
which does not deal with fine feelings and forms of 
speech, but draws sensible conclusions. True, it 
is not meant for women, who will never attain 
to—” 

No, they never will — thank heaven!” Dora 
interrupted. Her face was deeply flushed and 
her eyes blazed with a passionate light. Thank 
heaven!” she repeated, still more vehemently. 
“ For a woman who would quietly look on and 
see a poor child, whom she perhaps might help, 
perish before her eyes, because she draws sensi- 


The Stolefi VaiL 


21 


ble conclusions and occupies a higher standpoint 
than ‘ what is termed philanthropy/ would 
deserve — a husband like yourself.” 

Professor Norrnann was at first fairly rigid 
with amazement at this attack. Hitherto he had 
been accustomed to distribute incivilities, and 
now he was obliged to receive one, and from the 
rosy lips of a young girl. It really extorted a 
certain feeling of respect, though it affected him 
so unpleasantly. And the girl looked so pretty, 
too, with her crimson cheeks and flashing eyes — 
it was enough to drive him distracted. 

‘‘ So that is the worst thing you could wish a 
woman — to have me for her husband ?” he 
exclaimed at last. ‘‘ Not very flattering, but 
don’t fear, Fraulein, that misfortune will befall 
none of your sex. Think me a monster if you 
choose. I repeat, I don’t believe in what is called 
philanthropy. As the world and life are now 
constituted, we can find use for sound, vigorous 
men only, no weaklings who must be carefully 
coddled and then can accomplish nothing. It is 
better for those who do not possess much vitality 
not to live at all. This is the lesson taught by 
nature, science, reason. We see it — ” 

He paused, for a low cry of terror, followed 
by a shriek from Dora, interrupted the explana- 
tion. Friedel had already passed the greater 
portion of the dangerous path and was just 
setting his foot on a stone, when it rolled from 


22 


The Stolen Vail. 


under it — the boy struggled, fell, and rolled 
down the steep mountain-side. Once he clung 
to a bush growing in a crevice, which perhaps 
might have supported the lad’s frail figure, but 
the heavy satchel had crushed the slender stem 
and dragged him down. For a moment he hung 
on the edge of the cliff, then the bush gave way 
and he disappeared. 

Dora Herwig was a brave, resolute girl. For 
an instant she stood rigid with horror at the 
catastrophy which had happened before her 
eyes, but she spent no time in useless cries and 
exclamations of terror. Seizing her alpen-stock, 
she began to return as swiftly as possible. She 
did not even glance at her companion, for she 
expected no aid from him. Suddenly an 
unlooked-for spectacle made her pause. 

Professor Normann whizzed past her on the 
same rocky path which he had just called danger- 
ous and which had become so fatal to poor 
Friedel. Of course the descent was far more 
perilous than the ascent had been, especially 
when made in so venturesome a fashion as the 
professor’s. He leaped, slid, slipped, hap-hazard, 
as if it were a matter of life and death, and also 
vanished from the girl’s eyes over the brink of 
the precipice. 

When Dora, panting for breath, at last 
reached the bottom of the cliff and looked for 
the boy, she saw that her worst fear was not 


The Stolen VaiL 


23 


confirmed. Friedel had not fallen into the 
chasm, but was lying- just on the verge. A few 
feet more, and the abyss would have received 
his shattered body, but even now the case was 
sufficiently serious. The lad lay perfectly 
motionless and deadly pale, with blood trickling 
from his forehead, while the professor was 
clumsily trying to restore him to consciousness. 

‘‘ I think he is dead,*’ he said in a strangely 
husky tone. 

‘‘ Draw him father away from the edge,” cried 
Dora, quickly. He is lying so near it that his 
first movement might cause another fall.” 

Normann obeyed. Lifting the boy, he carried 
him several yards away, then stood gazing at 
him in silence. 

Hitherto he had seen in the little fellow only 
the servant who regularly and noiselessly per- 
formed his accustomed tasks, and suited him 
because he did not interrupt him in his work, 
and now a bleeding child lay before him with 
closed eyes and an expression of suffering 
distinctly imprinted on the pallid little face. 
This was an experience wholly new to him. He 
gazed with a sort of helpless perplexity at his 
young companion who exclaimed : 

There ! give me your satchel. We will try to 
pour a few drops of wine down his throat, or at 
least rub his temples with it. Put the shawl 


24 


The Stolen Vail, 


under his head. Perhaps he is only stunned bv 
the fall.^’ 

Kneeling,, she tried to stanch the blood with 
her handkerchief ; the professor drew out his 
too, but he had probably never offered any one 
assistance, he was so clumsy in his movements. 
First he poured half the contents of his flask 
over the senseless boy, and, when this did not 
avail, seized him by the shoulders and began to 
shake him roughly at the same time calling him 
by name in tones of mingled anxiety and anger 
Dora was about to interfere indignantly, but this 
strange treatment proved successful. Friedcl 
stirred slightly and opened his eyes. 

Recognizing the young lady, he tried to smile 
and touched his bleeding forehead with his hand. 

Keep quiet, Friedel,” said Dora. “ Don’t 
move yet. Does it hurt much?” While speak- 
ing, she threw her own blood-stained handker- 
chief aside and, taking the professor’s, made a 
bandage. 

I don’t know,” Friedel answered, faintly. Jt 
bleeds — 1 suppose I fell. ” 

Of course ! ” cried Normann, instantly, con- 
cealing his intense relief under apparent harsh- 
ness. “ You went down the cliff heels overhead, 
and we were obliged to climb down after you.” 

“ I really couldn’t help it,” said Friedel, apolo- 
getically, '‘the stone turned and the satchel — ” 

“ You were awkward,” retorted the professor, 


The Stolen Vail 


25 


yet he gave the satchel, which laid near, an 
angry kick. Then he suddenly lifted the boy 
and set him on his feet. 

Can you stand? Lift your arm! Well, at 
least no bones are broken, and the hole in your 
head will heal. There I he is fainting again. 
What a weak creature ! 

He caught the sinking form in time and laid • 
the boy on the ground again. But Dora now 
interposed and positively forbade this treatment. 

Leave Friedel to me,” she said in an irritated 
tone. ‘‘ Your would-be remedies are worse than 
the plunge from the cliff. At least have the 
kindness to go down the mountain and get a 
couple of men to carry the poor boy, for I hope 
you see that he cannot walk.” 

Normann looked down at the lad who, under 
Dora’s ministrations, revived in a few minutes, 
and shook his head ungraciously. 

So that he may get a sunstroke into the bar- 
gain,” he muttered. ‘‘ There isn’t a bit of shade 
near, and it will be an hour before any one can 
get here — I’ll carry him myself.” 

Dora gazed at him in mute amazement. It 
was certainly best to get the boy down the 
mountain side to some place where he could ob. 
tain assistance as quickly as possible, yet it 
seemed very strange that Professor Normann 
should offer to do the work himself. The latter, 
without waiting for her reply, raised the boy a 


26 


The Stolen VaiL 


second time, but the rebuke he had received 
seemed to have produced an effect, for the 
movement with which he again lifted him in his 
arms was very gentle and cautious, while he said 
authoritatively. 

Put your head on my shoulder and don’t 
move — there ! Now you can faint a third time, 
if it’s any satisfaction to you.” 

Holding Friedel in his arms, he began to fol- 
low the homeward path, accompanied by Dora. 
The boy’s fragile figure was no heavy burden^ 
yet it became very perceptible on the steep shade- 
less mountain path, beneath a scorching sun, 
especially to the professor, who was not accus- 
tomed to carry anything. He now panted for 
breath, the perspiration streamed from his fore- 
head. True, he strode on, but this first act in 
the service of what is termed ‘‘ philanthropy ” 
was a very hard task. 


Professor Herwig’s home in Schlehdorf was 
an unpretending one, as would be expected in a 
little mountain village, and many of the usual 
conveniences were lacking, but the cottage was 
neat and pleasant, and moreover afforded an 
extensive view of the mountains. A small gar- 
den divided it from the adjoining house, where 
Professor Normann lived, and of course there 
was daily intercourse between the two neigh- 
bors. 


The Stolefi Vail. 


27 


The gentlemen were sitting in the large 
room on the ground floor occupied by Herr 
Herwig, and had become so absorbed in their 
conversation that they noticed neither the beau- 
tiful sunset, nor the song whose notes floated in 
through the open window. Dora sat outside in 
the arbor, trying to teach Friedel some melodies. 
He seemed to be a docile pupil, for he repeated 
the tune, in a feeble but clear voice, catching the 
air very quickly. 

‘‘As I tell you,'' Herwig was just saying at the 
close of a long conversation, “ Professor Welten is 
going to Vienna early next spring. The arrange- 
ments are not yet completed but he will 
undoubtedly accept. I know from the most 
reliable sources that you would gladly be secured 
as a member of the faculty of our University, 
only you have hitherto had a decided aversion 
to any extension of your tasks as teacher, and 
would accept no position of this sort." 

“Yes — hitherto!" replied Normann with a 
touch of embarrassment, which, however, wholly 
escaped the notice of his companion, who eagerly 
continued : 

“ I hope you have changed your opinion. Be- 
lieve me, an inspiring influence emanates from the 
professor's chair, and we need a younger, more 
vigorous strength, if Welten leaves us. Only I 
have doubted whether you would accept any 
invitation, for — does the singing disturb you ? 


28 


The Stolen Vail, 


Dora ought to have chosen another place ! We’ll 
shut the window.” 

He moved toward it, lor he had noticed that| 
Normann, instead of listening to his words, was 
gazing intently out of it. But Normann rushed 
in front of him. 

My ! I really don’t hear it — and the room is 
very warm.” 

“Well, as you choose,” Herwig answered, “as to 
our Heidelberg, you are sufficiently familiar with 
its academical affairs. The society is very pleasant 
and the beautiful situation of the place is also to 
be considered in thinking of a possible removal.” 

“ I never go into society,” said Normann, with 
his usual bluntness, “ and I care nothing about 
the situation. You know I have no taste for 
landscapes.” 

“ Yes, 1 know it, and have given up trying to 
convert you — but what does Dora mean ? Just 
listen ; the saucy girl has overheard your last 
word_s, and is making fun of you !” 

Dora had really stopped midway in a song 
and commenced an entirely different tune. She 
had a pretty voice, which echoed very sweetly 
through the stillness of the evening : 

“Old Heidelberg, so dear, so fair 
% City with honors crowned. 

No other can with thee compare. 

On Rhine or Neckar found.” 


The Stoleri Vat I, 


29 


At the second verse Friedel chimed in, though 
somewhat timidly, but he soon caught the tune 
and sang the third verse clearly and steadily. 

'^Yes, Fraulein Dora seems to seek every 
opportunity of turning me into ridicule,” an- 
swered Normann, sullenly. She has taken 
entire possession of Friedel and acts as if he 
were her exclusive property. I scarcely see the 
boy. Now she is teaching him to sing because 
she knows I can’t endure it. But heaven pre- 
serve him if he attempts to sing to me !” 

Yet, spite of his wrath, the professor still stood 
at the window to thoroughly enjoy the annoyance 
caused him. 

Herr Herwig showed some little embarrass- 
ment, for the complaint was not wholly un- 
founded. Dora now stood on a war footing 
with his colleague, and could not be induced to 
show him a proper degree of respect. Her 
father’s remonstrances produced no effect, and 
he shrugged his shoulders helplessly. 

“ You must overlook her sauciness. I confess 
that my daughter is somewhat spoiled and self- 
willed. She lost her mother when a mere child, 
and knows only too well that she holds the first 
place in her father’s house and heart. She is 
spoiled in society, too. The students vie with one 
another in showing her attention, and so do the 
younger tutors, many of them with serious inten- 
tions. Such things make a young girl fancy she 


30 


The Stolen 'Vail 


can jest with everybody, and she sometimes 
forgets what is due to a man of your years and 
importance.” 

But the Avell-meant apology did not have the 
desired effect. Professor Normann made a wry 
face as if he tasted something bitter. 

Of my years ?” he repeated, slowly. ‘‘ How 
old do you think I am?” 

About forty-five.” 

Pardon me. Pm just thirty-nine.” 

Well, don't be vexed,” replied Herwig 
laughing. You really look older. But you 
needn't mind that. You are classed among the 
younger men in science.” 

Here the conversation was interrupted by the 
housekeeper, who came in to say that the man 
who was to drive the professor and his daughter 
to the station the next morning, had come to ask 
about the hour of starting and the luggage. 

‘‘ I must speak to him myself,” said Herwig, 
rising. ‘‘We will see each other again before 
we part, my dear Normann. You’ll be glad to 
get rid of your noisy neighbors.” 

Normann was uncivil enough not to contradict 
him, but he did not look particularly delighted 
as he also rose and left the room. On the con- 
trary, he seemed to be in a very bad humor, 
though the much-desired quiet was now assured. 

Dora was sitting in the arbor, arranging the 
sketches and drawings collected during her stay 


The Stolen VaiL 


31 


in Schlehdorf, which must now be packed. 
Among them were some landscapes in water- 
colors and several heads, and though there was 
no evidence of great genius, her work showed a 
considerable degree of talent. 

Friedel was putting the sheets into a portfolio 
and fairly devouring them with his eyes. A 
wide fresh scar on his forehead still remained to 
bear witness to the fall over the cliff, but in 
other respects he had changed greatly during 
the last four ’Aveeks. His bearing was more 
erect and vigorous, his complexion had become 
fresher and, instead of his former sickly pallor, 
a faint color tinged his cheeks. The dark circles 
around his eyes had disappeared, and his shy, 
diffident manner had also vanished. He no 
longer wore the shabby out-grown garments 
which he had brought with him, but a brand- 
new suit, and the jacket with green cuffs and the 
little mountaineer’s hat were very becoming ; 
it was evident that Friedel was a very pretty 
boy. The poor stunted city child, who had 
been permitted for the first time to breathe the 
free air of the mountains, to have a taste of joy 
and liberty, had developed wonderfully under 
the influence of these powerful remedies. 

The gay conversation which Dora Avas carry- 
ing on with her protege was interrupted by the 
professor, who burst in upon their chat like a 
thunder storm. 


32 


The Stolen Vail. 


“ Have you forgotten that it’s seven o’clock?” 
he said, angrily. “You must drink your milk. 
It is to be taken regularly. I brought the boy to 
the mountains on account of the doctor’s urgent 
entreaties that he might look like a human being, 
and now he stands staring at pictures instead of 
drinking his milk, and of course will go home 
just as puny in appearance as before. Go to the 
barn at once.” 

Dora had listened in astonishment. “ Why, 
Professor Normann,” she criedj “ that sounds 
almost like the foolish philanthropy which you 
condemned so bitterly a short time ago. Go, 
Friedel,” she continued. “ I can finish alone. 
Take my hat with you into the house.” 

The boy cast a sorrowful glance at the 
sketches, which he would have liked to see once 
more, took the hat — it was the little straw one 
with the blue vail which Dora always wore in 
her mountain rambles — and went off with it. 
The young girl gazed after him, and then 
asked : 

“ Don’t you think Friedel has gained wonder- 
fully during the last four weeks?” 

“ I don’t see anything wonderful about it,” 
replied Normann. “The boy is petted and 
pampered and spoiled like a prince. I’ve even 
been obliged to buy him a suit of new clotlies, 
which cost a pile of money.” 

“ But he looks so well in them ! Besides, I 


The Stolen VaiL 


33 


only asked modestly for a jacket, and you 
bought the whole suit and the most expensive 
material into the bargain.*' 

Because I was ashamed to have the boy run- 
ning about with us all day long in his rags. 
You take him everywhere, there’s no doing 
without him, though he merely carries your 
sketching portfolio, because he must not be 
allowed to exert himself. I am obliged to tug 
my own luggage. I’m not even asked about the 
matter. The boy and I are both under perfect 
tyranny.” 

But Friedel is very comfortable under this 
tyranny,” said Dora, quietly, “ and so are you, 
Herr Professor.” 

Pardon me. I’m very badly off, for the boy is 
utterly useless. I had trained him to suit me 
exactly. He did not venture to open his lips in 
my room — now he chatters constantly, and is even 
beginning to grumble. On every occasion I hear : 
Fraulein Dora doesn’t like that, Fraulein Dora 
wants this so and so, and of course he does what 
the young lady desires, and cares not a straw for 
me or my orders.” 

“ Yes, why do you allow it?” asked Dora. I 
wouldn’t if I were you !” With these words she 
took her sunshade from the bench and rested it 
against the wooden lattice work. 

‘'Oh, why do I allow it?” repeated Normann 
in great wrath, hurriedly occupying the vacant 


34 


The Stole7i VaiL 


place on the bench. “You don’t care for my 
objections.” 

“ No, and I won’t have Friedel turned into a 
machine again. What do you mean to do with 
him when you go back to the city ?” 

“ He shall black m}^ boots,” said the professor 
with grim satisfaction. “ Or do you suppose I 
mean to coddle him as you do ? He isn’t con- 
sumptive, only puny. The doctor tells me all he 
needs is air, exercise and nourishing food. 
Well, he has them now, and if he gets well so 
much the better for him. But his idle life will 
be over; he must black boots again from morn- 
ing till night.” 

“ Have you such an endless number of boots ?” 
cried the young girl bursting into a shout of 
laughter which fairly drove the professor to 
despair. 

“ Don’t laugh, Fraulein Dora,” he said, angrily. 
“ I must beg you not to laugh at me. I — ” 

“Am Professor Julius Normann, the light of 
science, who owns so many boots that it keeps 
some one blacking them from morning till night,” 
cried Dora laughing till the tears filled her eyes. 
“ That would surely be be37^ond poor Friedel’s 
strength, and besides I had another proposal to 
make.” 

“ Is the lad to be an opera singer?” asked Nor- 
mann, spitefully. “ Or am I to have him educated 
that he also may become a light of science?” 


The Stolen Vail 


35 


Not exactly, but souiething similar. Look at 
this — Friedel’s first drawing.’' 

Dora drew a sheet of paper from the portfolio 
and handed it to the professor, who took it very 
suspiciously. He had scarcely glanced at it ere 
he flew into a furious rage. 

“The miserable scoundrel ! So this his grati- 
tude. He draws me as a scarecrow. Well, just 
let him wait till he gets into my hands." 

The young lady's lips twitched again, but this 
time she controlled her mirth. 

“ Ah, so you recognize the picture Y' 

“ Certainl 3 \ It is a speaking likeness. But 
Friedel never made it alone. You helped him." 

“ 1 did not draw a single line. He did it 
secretly, and was unwilling to give me the sketch 
when I surprised him. That's the way you look 
in a bad humor, and you are nearly always in 
one." 

This was too much for the professor; he 
started up. 

“What? That's the way I look? Am I a 
scarecrow with which children are frightened to 
bed ? Have I such a nose — such a shock of hair?" 

“ The nose is certainly rather large, but the 
forehead and eyes are admirably done, and as for 
the hair — do you never look in the glass, pro- 
fessor ?" 

“ No," roared Normann, who was becoming 


The Stolen VaiL 


36 


more and more excited the longer lie looked at 
the picture, which really was not flattering. 

‘MVell then, look at yourself to-morrow and 
do Friedel justice. As to your shock of hair — 
pardon me, those are your own words — he really 
did not exaggerate, it is true to nature.’* 

Shall I have it cut off and go about like a 
convict ?” 

No, you need only use a little pomade on it, 
perhaps you would then look more human.” 

The professor ran both hands through his 
hair. 

“So I look like a monster ? A monster! Is 
that what you mean, Fraulein Dora?” 

“ Not like a human being,” replied Dora, 
coolly, “ and now give me back the picture.” 

“I’ll first box the boy’s ears with it,” Nor- 
mann retorted, but the young lady prevented 
this amiable intention by quietly taking the 
sketch from him and putting it into the port- 
folio. 

“ Excuse me. I intend to carry it to Heidel- 
berg and show it to my teacher, who is one of 
our most distinguished artists. I know in 
advance what he will say. “ If the boy has 
drawn that without any instruction, without the 
least assistance, he certainly possesses God-given 
talent which must be cultivated.” 

“ Oh, so that’s it,” cried the professor, on 
whose mind light was now dawning. “ You 


The Stolen Vail, 


37 


want to make the boy an artist, because he can 
scrawl a little with a pencil and has turned me 
into a scarecrow! No doubt you consider it 
very romantic to discover such a God-given 
talent in rags, and give the world a second 
Raphael. Young ladies always have these 
fancies. It is so touching, so philanthropic, so 
sublime. Deuce take all the fine feelings which 
work so much mischief in the world. I, you 
know — ” 

“Yes, you, of course, occupy a higher stand- 
point, “ Dora interrupted. “You care nothing 
for what is termed philanthropy.’' 

“And therefore I won’t allow the boy’s head 
to be filled with notions,” retorted Normann, 
who was greatly irritated by the sarcasm. “ I 
suppose he it to have drawing-lessons, imagine 
that he is to be a great artist, become accustomed 
to an idle life, and at last it will all come to noth- 
ing, his so-called genius will leave him in the 
lurch and he’ll be obliged to turn house painter. 
Then he will really be miserable ; for it’s much 
easier to get notions into the head than to drive 
them out again. No, Fraulein, that won’t do. I 
suppose you call it philanthropy, to take such a 
lad out of his sphere in life and fling him hap- 
hazard into another, but I tell you it will be a 
misfortune to him, and this time I shall plant 
myself on the higher standpoint very positively.” 

But the professor’s resolve did him little 


38 


The Stolen Vail 


service. Dora closed the portfolio, and said as 
calmly as if she had met with the most cordial 
assent : 

‘‘ My opinion, of course, is not decisive, but if 
my teacher confirms my judgment, something 
must be done for Friedel. Unfortunately, my 
father is not rich enough to make such sacrifices. 
You have property, so you are the person to do 
it.” 

I ?” cried Normann, fairly petrified with 
amazement at this reply to his impulsive declara- 
tion. So, because my colleague Herwig 
cannot commit an act of folly, I must? That is 
a matter of course ! But you are mistaken 
there, Fraulein. Friedel is a day-laborer’s child, 
and must fight his way through the world like 
the rest of his class. He shall stick to his boot- 
blacking — so that ends the matter.” 

He flung himself back on the bench with an 
audible thump, to add emphasis to his words, 
and thought he had settled the whole business 
with his ‘‘that ends the 'matter,” but he under- 
valued his young antagonist who suddenly 
dropped the subject and asked abruptly : 

“ Have you a garden attached to your house. 
Professor Normann ?” 

“I? No, I live in the heart of the cit}^,” he 
replied, surprised by the question. 

“ We have a beautiful large garden in Heidel- 
berg. It is on the slope of a hill and affords a 


The Stoleii VaiL 


39 


wide view of the valley of the Neckar. Last 
winter was very severe, and the cold destroyed 
many of our flowers and shrubs. They were 
lying uprooted in a heap, ready to be carried 
away, when I came down one morning. Amid 
the tangle of dry branches I saw a few puny 
green leaves. It was a little rose-bush peering 
from the heap of boughs where it was thrown to 
die. 1 pulled it out and carried it to our old 
gardener, who planted it again though he 
laughed at me and said it had been frozen and 
would never bloom ; it would be better for me 
to throw it on the rubbish heap. But I pitied 
the poor plant, which had tried so hard to put 
forth a few green leaves in the first spring sun- 
shine, and must now wither and die while all its 
companions were growing so gaily. So I set it 
myself in the sunniest spot and watered it eveiy 
day. For weeks it drooped and did not thrive, 
but suddenly it began to flourish and in the 
blossoming time was covered with roses.'' 

The young girl's voice, usually so clear and 
ringing, sounded subdued and gentle, and her 
clear brown eyes were fixed with a strangely 
earnest expression upon the professor, who did 
not utter a sylable, but gazed intently at her. 
After a pause of several minutes, Dora softly 
continued : 

When I see how Friedel’s pretty blue eyes 
sparkle whenever he sees or hears anything 


40 


The Stolen Vail 


about art, I cannot help thinking of my little 
bush with its first stunted growth, and its mag- 
nificent display of roses/' 

Another pause followed, then Normann said 
in a strangely altered voice : 

Hum ! ril consider the matter.” 

Dora rose and took her portfolio. 

“Pray do so, professor. I have received to- 
day a very, very fierce ' that ends it.' I shall 
expect to-morrow an equally positive 'yes’ to 
take with me on my journey — good night.” 

Again the gay, saucy laugh rang out to which, 
though it had so often exasperated the professor, 
he listened as if it were music, then the young 
girl hurried off and vanished in the house. 

Normann sat motionless a few minutes, then 
thrust both hands through his hair, usually his 
favorite gesture, but this time it seemed to make 
him a little uncomfortable. 

“ Do I really look as that confounded boy 
represented me ?” he muttered. “ And by way 
of gratitude. I’m to have him educated. How 
she told the story of the rose-bush ! One 
would fain have seized the girl and” — here he 
paused, horrified by the thought which had sud- 
denly entered his mind. 

But annoying thoughts have the evil quality 
of pertinaciously returning, and so it was with 
the poor professor. He could not shake it off 


The Stolen VaiL 


4 ^ 


until he at last worked himself into an actual 
rage. 

“ Nonsense ! When I go to Heidelberg in the 
spring I shall find her betrothed. Perhaps I 
may be permitted to witness the ceremony and 
offer my most sincere congratulations. ‘The 
students all pay her attention and so do the 
younger tutors, many of them with serious inten- 
tions ’ — I should like to wring the necks of the 
whole crew he added angrily, with a corres- 
ponding gesture which made Friedel who had 
just entered the arbor start back in alarm. 

“ Herr Professor — ?” 

“ Well, I wasn’t thinking of you ; you needn’t 
be so frightened,” growled his master. 

I don’t feel frightened any more,” replied 
Friedel, simply, but the answer irritated his 
employer. 

“ Oh, so you no longer have any respect for 
me and tell me of it to my face ? The fellow 
isn’t afraid any more. We’ll see. Come herc» 
Friedel.” 

The lad obeyed, but his blue eyes rested fear- 
lessly on the professor who fully intended to 
lecture him. severely about the picture. Sud- 
denly, however, the story of the rose-bush came 
back to his memory and the reproof was trans- 
formed to a simple order. 

“ Friedel, Professor Herwig and his daughter 
are going to-morrow, get me at once — ” 


42 


The Stolen Vail, 


A bouquet of flowers !” cried Friedel, eagerly. 

'' Nonsense ! What should I do with a bou- 
quet of flowers ?’' replied Normann, angrily. 

Must your tongue run perpetually? Buy me 
a bottle of hair oil. 

Hair — oil?’’ repeated Friedel, utterly amazed. 

“ Why, yes. Or can’t you buy such things in 
this out-of-the-way place ?” 

I think the grocer sells it.” 

Then go to the grocer.” 

Friedel could not yet quite understand this 
incomprehensible order. 

‘‘ Shall I get a large or a small bottle ?” he 
asked at last. 

‘‘The largest you can find, and now be off. 
Stop. What is that you have in your jacket?” 

The boy flushed crimson and hastily put his 
hand on his pocket, from which peeped some 
blue object which he hurriedly tried to conceal, 
but the professor noticed his intention and pre- 
vented him. 

“ What does this mean ? That is the vail from 
Fraulein Dora’s traveling hat, which you just 
took to the house. What are you doing 
with it ?” 

The question confused the boy still more, his 
eyes drooped guiltily and he stammered : 

“ The young lady is going to-morrow, so I 
thought — I wanted — ” 

“What did you want?” persisted Normann, 


The Stolen Vail, 


43 


obstinately, and Friedel now suddenly gained 
courage and began to talk freely. 

‘‘ Fraulein Dora has been so kind to me, and 
she told me she would not forget me in Heidel- 
berg, but Heidelberg is so far off, and she surely 
won’t remember. So I thought of what Sepp 
told us that day in the mountain pasture about 
the hunter who stole the vail. Sepp says it is 
just as true now, people need only try it, but 
the vail must be stolen and so — I stole it.” 

Oh, you silly boy !” cried the professor wrath- 
lully. “ You, city-born, to believe such non- 
sensical rubbish ! But that’s the way with you 
all! You won’t listen to reason; but if any- 
body comes with the most absurd superstition 
you swallow it at once. It is perfectly useless 
to try to lift you to any higher standpoint ; you 
cling to your folly. Go and return Fraulien 
Dora’s vail instantly — or no, Fll do it myself and 
tell her how foolishly you have behaved.” 

Friedel hung his head at the rebuke, then cast 
a mournful glance at the tissue to which he at- 
tributed such magical powers, and slipped away 
in confusion. 

The sun had set long before, and now even the 
last glow of sunset was fading. Twilight closed 
in, shrouding the landscape with its cool gray 
shadows. Then the moon rose slowly above the 
mountains and the stillness of evening rested on 
the earth. 


44 


The Stolen Vail, 


Professor Normann still sat in the arbor, chaf- 
ing against the gross superstition of people in 
general, and Friedel, in particular, but he con- 
tinued to hold the vail in his hand. 

Of course old Sepp had talked arrant nonsense 
that day on the mountain. Normann even dis- 
tinctly recalled the words : ‘‘ It will come true 

now just the same. If a youth has a sweetheart, 
he must steal her vail— a kerchief will do, too, if 
she's a mountain maiden — then she'll never for- 
get him. Day and night her thoughts will 
dwell with him, she can't shut him out of her 
mind — but the vail must be stolen." 

That foolish Friedel! As if such stories were 
fit for a boy of fourteen. What should he know 
about sweethearts? 

The professor still gazed intently at the airy 
tissue in his hand. He had so often seen it flut- 
tering around the brown braids and the rosy 
face; Now all those pleasant hours were over. 
To-morrow he would not hear the gay, .saucy 
laugh, nor see the bright face. Now the pleas- 
ant life in the hospitable Her wig mansion would 
begin again. All the students and younger tutors 
would come to pay court to the daughter of the 
house. Winter with its balls and entertainments 
would follow — of course the summer trip, witli 
everything connected with it, would be forgotten 
— of course it would. 

The moon now cast its rays through the 


The Stolen Vail. 


45 


leafy roof of the arbor — the moon alone wit- 
nessed Professor Julius Normann, the light of 
science, the distinguished free-thinker, fall lower 
and lower from his higher standpoint down to 
the much disdained gross .superstition. And 
then came a moment when the moon really 
ought to have hidden her face in order not to see 
what happened. The aforesaid professor glanced 
timidly around, carefully folded the blue vail and 
hid it in his breast pocket. He was far more 
ashamed of himself than Friedel had been. 
Nevertheless he pressed his hand closely on 
his breast to guard his talisman. He would not 
have resigned it for any money in the world. 

* * * * * 

The next day dawned clear and bright. The 
chain of mountain peaks stood forth in vivid out-- 
lines, and the dew in the garden sparkled bright- 
ly in the morning sunlight. It was superb 
weather for traveling. 

The occupants of the house where Professor 
Herwig lived with his daughter were busied in 
the final preparations for the jouimey. No one ap- 
peared at door or window, but a tall figure was 
pacing slowly to and fro in the garden. It was 
not Professor Normann’s usual custom to move 
with so much deliberation and dignity. On the 
contrary he was generally hasty and abrupt in his 
movements, but this demeanor seemed to him to 


46 


The Stolen VaiL 


be a point of honor to correspond with the 
change which had taken place in his outer man. 

He had actually accomplished the amazing 
feat of smoothing his “shock of hair/' only Nor- 
mann, who was entirely unacquainted with the 
use of pomade, had unluckily applied it too 
freely. The oil glittered on his head like the 
dew on the bushes ; the locks which usually 
bristled so stiffly now lay smoothly across his 
brow and were fairly plastered on his temples. 

The professor was altered almost beyond rec- 
ognition, and his appearance had undeniably 
lost'much of its fierceness ; but he felt very un- 
comfortable in his brand-new “ respectability." 

Friedel, too, was in the garden, carrying a 
huge bouquet of flowers. He knew what to do 
with flowers when a young lady was going 
away, far better than his master, and had 
ransacked their landlady's little garden for them. 
His appearance was changed also. When the 
professor had used nearly the whole bottle of oil 
to smooth his hair, Friedel had asked and ob- 
tained permission to beautify himself with the 
remainder. So his fair locks shone, too, though 
to a somewhat less degree, and he imagined him- 
self wonderfully improved by it. 

The door of the house opened and Dora, 
dressed for her journey, appeared. She nodded 
pleasantly to her protege, whom she saw first, 
and was just answering his morning greeting 


The Stolen Vail, 


47 


when Professor Normann appeared before her 
and said, with a touch of solemnity in his tone: 

Good-morning, Fraulein Dora.” 

Dora turned, glanced at him, stood for a 
moment rigid with astonishment, and then burst 
into a perfect convulsion of laughter. 

Well, Fraulein !” Normann drew himself up, 
deeply insulted. He had expected his appearance 
to produce a very different effect. 

“ Excuse me. Professor ” — the young lady 
strove in vain to control her mirth — ‘H certainly 
did not mean — but — oh, this is too good a joke !” 
And her laughter almost stifled her. 

“ Do not laugh at me again, Fraulein Dora !” 
exclaimed the professor in an almost threatening 
tone, and, according to his custom, was about to 
run both hands through his hair, but recollected 
just in time that this would not suit its present 
arrangement, and clenched them convulsively, 
then continued in an almost plaintive tone : 

“You advised hair-oil. I’ve used nearly a 
whole bottle of it and Friedel has taken the 
rest.” 

“ Yes, he looks like a simpleton,” replied Dora 
giving herself up once more to her mirth. 

This was indeed an insult, but a strange gen- 
tleness of mood seemed to have taken possession 
of the professor with his anointing, for instead 
of flying into a rage, he said in a tone of the 
deepest reproach : 


48 


The Stole7i VaiL 


“ You laugh at me — and I did it solely for your 
sake.” 

“For my sake!” Dora suddenly grew very 
grave, her eyes met his, then she held out her 
hand, saying softly : 

“Then I will not laugh any longer.” 

Meanwhile, Friedel had taken the bouquet he 
intended to give her into the arbor and wondered 
why the professor clasped the little hand that 
lay in his so long. But the latter appeared to 
be in a very amiable mood that morning, for he 
began to pace up and down with the young lady, 
absorbed in eager conversation. The boy’s heart 
beat violently. Surely they must be talking 
about the vail — would Fraulein Dora be angry? 

But neither the vail nor Friedel was mentioned 
in the conversation, for Dora was just saying in 
reply to a remark of her companion: 

“ Papa thinks your coming to Heidelberg will 
depend solely upon your own wishes, and he will 
be very glad if you decide to do so.” 

“ Yes, replied Normann in a somewhat^ 
unsteady voice, “ but others would not — you, for 
instance, would not be pleased ?’’ 

“ Oh 3 ^es, if you bring Friedel with \^ou.” 

“ That silly boy again I” cried the professor, 
angrily. “ Fie is the only person for whom you 
care.” 

“ 1 am deeply interested in his future. Have 
you considered the matter?” 


The Stolen Vail, 


49 


“ What matter?’' 

‘‘ Why, I showed you yesterday the picture 
which you thought so unflattering, yet it is so 
admirable in every line. True, there is less 
resemblance now.” 

The young lady’s lips twitched treacherously 
as she glanced at her companion’s well-oiled 
locks ; but the allusion to the picture seemed to 
have put the latter into a very ungracious mood. 
His former morose expression returned as he 
replied : 

“ I have no intention of putting these notions 
of art into the youngster’s head. He has grown 
pert enough already, let him stick to his boot- 
blacking. You needn’t say anything more about 
it, Fraulein. I’ve made up my mind.” 

“ Positively !” said Dora completing the sen, 
tence. Must 1 tell you once more. Professor, 
what you will do when you get to the city?” 

“ Do you know ?” 

“ Perfectly. You will go to an artist of repute 
as quickly as possible and obtain his opinion of 
Friedel’s talent. Then you will take him to a 
drawing school, provide him most liberally with 
everything he needs, and inform me, with your 
usual brusqueness, that the matter is arranged, it 
is no farther concern of mine, and I need not 
trouble myself about it. What do you think of 
my clairvoyance ?” 

Normann made no answer. It really did seem 


50 


The Stolen Vail, 


to border on clairvoyance to have her tell him 
his most secret thoughts and intentions. He was 
fairly bewildered. 

“ Don’t try to deny it/’ Dora went on triumph- 
antly. “When we were climbing the mountain 
from the pasture that day, you explained to me 
very fully that it would be much better and 
more profitable for humanity to have that puny 
plant, Friedel, die as soon as possible, and then 
you carried him for an hour in the scorching 
sunshine to secure help as soon as possible. 
When he was brought to Schlehdorf, and I 
wanted to nurse him, you rudely declared that 
you could attend to him yourself. You sat all 
night by his bedside applying bandages. Now 
you obstinately insist on the bootblacking, and, 
as soon as my back is turned, a pencil will be 
put into Friedel’s hand. Don’t look so fierce^ 
professor ! I don’t believe another word you 
say. You have deceived me with your pretended 
heartlessness.” 

Normann had really made an effort to main- 
tain his former morose manner, but he did not 
succeed. He realized this fact himself, and sud- 
denly bending toward her, he said in a low 
tone : 

“ Fraulein Dora, will you think of me some- 
times r 

The manner was so earnest that she could not 
give a careless reply. Her eyes drooped. 


The Stolen VaiL 


51 


Am I to think that you will come to Heidel- 
berg 

‘'Next spring, perhaps. But long before that 
time you will doubtless have forgotten me.” 

“ No,” said the young girl in a low, but firm 
tone, slowly raising her beautiful brown eyes, 
which gazed deep into the questioner’s, and he 
must have believed their assurance, for his hand 
suddenly grasped hers with a passionate clasp. 

Just at that moment the door opened and 
Professor Herwig appeared. He, too, noticed 
with the utmost surprise his colleague's well- 
oiled locks, but knowing his sensitiveness, he 
made no comment but shook hands with him, 
while Dora went into the house to get her hat 
and gloves. Directly after, her voice was heard 
saying : 

“ If I only knew where my vail was ! It was 
wound around my hat, and now I can't find it 
anywhere !” 

Friedel, who had come forward with his bou- 
quet, flushed crimson and glanced timidly at his 
employer. Surely the latter would now give 
her the missing vail, which he had probably for- 
gotten, but strangely enough, this did not 
happen. The professor, whose face had also 
suddenly become noticeably red, turned to his 
companion and began to talk with great volubil- 
ity about a certain kind of moss, to the surprise 
of Herwig, who thought it rather singular that 


52 


The Stole7i VaiL 


he should discuss a scientific subject just on the 
eve of their separation. 

Meanwhile the carriage had driven up, the 
baggage was brought out and put on, and the 
landlord came with all his family to bid the 
departing guests farewell. But Professor Nor- 
mann was still absorbed in his mosses, and Dora 
was still searching for her vail. She now 
appeared and asked : 

‘^Friedel, didn’t you see my vail? You car- 
ried my hat into the house yesterday.” 

The poor boy dared not answer, but hung his 
head in conscious guilt. Just at that moment, 
however, aid came from the quarter where he 
least expected it. His master suddenly turned, 
unceremoniously took the flowers from his hand, 
and said to the young lady : 

Here is a farewell offering from Schlehdorf, 
Fraulein Dora.” 

It was a happy thought, for the other occu- 
pants of the house now surrounded the depart- 
ing travelers, and also offered their bouquets. 
Farewells were exchanged, hands shaken, and 
the missing vail, in the general interchange of 
last words, was luckily forgotten. Freidel was 
deeply offended. He had gathered and tied the 
flowers, and then the professor took them" away 
and gave them to the young lady, while he stood 
by with empty hands. He did not feel recon- 


The Stolen Vail 


53 


ciled in the least till Dora called him and bade 
him good-b}^ in the most affectionate way. 

Then the travellers took their seats in the car- 
riage, hands were waved in farewell and it 
rolled away into the sunny morning. Tears 
streamed down Friedel’s cheeks, but he suddenly 
remembered that the road led around the whole 
lake and could be overlooked from the little hill 
at the end of the garden. Off he darted to the 
spot, and the professor, who had also remem- 
bered it, followed with long strides. Both stood 
watching the carriage which really remained in 
sight a long time. Friedel sobbed bitterly, and 
Normann scolded him, but he looked as if he 
would gladly have joined in the lad’s expressions 
of grief. 

Don’t cry,” he said at last. You shall see 
the young lady again next spring. We will go 
to Heidelberg.” 

Friedel’s tears suddenly ceased ; his eyes spark- 
ling and almost breathless with joyful excitement 
he asked : 

‘‘ I too ?” 

“ Of course. Fraulein Dora would give me a 
fine welcome if didn’t bring you, but you must 
get well first, do you understand ? I won’t take 
such a puny fellow as you are now. You must 
grow into a stout, rosy cheeked lad, who will do 
me credit.” 

I’ll try my very best,” said the boy, earnestly. 


54 


The Stolen Vail. 


'‘Yes, many will do that,’' muttered the pro- 
fessor. He did not add what he thought^ 
that would be easier for Friedel to grow fat and 
Tosy than for him to become like a human being, 
as was required by a certain person. It wouldn’t 
do to be a morose recluse, a misanthropic hermit 
if — well, if a man wanted to go to Heidelberg. 

“ Friedel,” he said, with his eyes still fixed 
upon the receding carriage, “ what was that ditty 
you learned yesterday, the song about Heidel- 
berg ? Do you remember it ?” 

Friedel nodded and instantly began in his 
musical voice : 

“ Old Heidelberg, so dear, so fair.” 

He recollected both words and tune perfectly 
and sang through the verse correctly ; just as 
he was closing, the most extraordinary, unprece- 
dented thing happened. Professor Normann 
began to sing himself. Yes, he actually sang and 
when Friedel stared at him in horror with his 
mouth wide open in astonishment, he repeated 
the last verse alone. The notes were false, it is 
true, but his powerful bass voice echoed across 
the lake after the disappearing vehicle. 

“ Thy name doth set my heart aglow. 

Like the fall of a bride’s light feet, 

The rapturous joy it doth bestow 
Is like love’s whispers sweet.” 


The Stolen Vail, 


55 


Professor Herwig was pacing up and down his 
study impatiently, in a somewhat irritated 
mood. Ev^er anon he glanced at the clock and 
then returned to the window, which overlooked 
the street. The train had arrived some time 
before, and the travellers it brought, ought to 
have reached the city long ago, but no carriage 
was in sight. 

He was expecting Professor Normann, who 
had accepted the appointment in Heidelberg 
University and was to arrive that day. During 
the brief peroid in which he was to make his 
preparations for the removal, he had accepted 
Professor Herwig's proffered hospitality. 

The clock now struck twelve, an hour after 
the train was due, and his host could arrive at 
no conclusion except that by some accident he 
had missed it. No doubt a message would come 
in the course of the day. Somewhat vexed by 
this lack of punctuality, Herwig at last left the 
room to inform his daughter, who had waited in 
the garden, that the expected guest was miss- 
ing. 

Herwig lived in one of the villas on the 
heights, and the garden, situated on the slope 
of the hill, afforded a view of the whole city and 
its environs. The season was early spring, 
everything was budding and blossoming in the 
first fullness of life. The fruit-trees were already 
in bloom. Everywhere in the gardens, among 


56 


The Stolen Vail 


the houses, on the slopes, a white or rosy vail glim- 
mered, and the mountains beyond were like a sea 
of fragrance. The waves of the Neckar flashed 
and sparkled in the bright noon sunshine far 
down the beautiful valley, and the horizon 
seemed vailed by a silvery mist. The song was 
true, spring dzd Unger on her way northward to 
weave for the city from her blossoms a shim- 
mering bridal robeS 

Herwig’s eyes wandered with quiet delight 
over the landscape which had grown so dear to 
him. He did not understand how any one could 
be indifferent to the charm of scenery, like his 
colleague, Normann. No doubt the latter’s 
eccentricity would cause both him and the 
university a great deal of trouble. Highly as 
he valued his scientific attainments, he did not 
conceal from himself that the new professor’s 
brusqueness and want of tact would often give 
offence. These traits would hardly change if he 
continued, in his new position, the old life of 
seclusion, and obstinately shut himself as before 
from all society. 

“ I’ll speak to him again,” said Herwig in a 
low tone, though 1 scarcely think it will be of 
any avail. I’ll have a talk with him at any rate, 
though whether it will be possible to change 
him — ” 

Suddenly he paused and fairly started back at 
the sight he beheld. On a little vine-grown 


The Stolen VaiL 


57 


terrace sat his daughter, and beside her — his 
missing colleague, of whose rudeness and aver- 
sion to society he had just been thinking. At 
present, neither of these characteristics was 
visible in the professor. His arm was thrown 
around the young girl, as he kissed again and 
again the rosy little face while Dora quietly sub- 
mitted. Both were so absorbed in their mutual 
happiness that they did not see the new comer, 
who stood rigid and motionless as a pillar of 
salt, fairly speechless. 

Why Dora, — Professor Normann !” he cried 
at last. 

The lovers started up, Dora was crimson with 
blushes, but Normann rushed to his astonished 
host and clasped him in vehement embrace. 

Professor ! Father-in-law ! Here 1 am, and 
introduce myself as your son-in-law.” 

Had a son-in-law dropped from the clouds at 
his feet, Herwig could not have looked more 
amazed and startled than by this announcement, 
and when Dora now ran to him also and hid her 
blushing face on his shoulder, he exclaimed 
almost beside himself : 

‘‘My child, in heaven’s name, what does this 
mean ? Do you really — ” 

“ Yes, she does, Herr Colleague,” interrupted 
Normann, triumphantly. “ She really does ! 
don’t understand it. Nor I either. But Pll 


58 


^fhe Stoical VaiL 


marry her. I’ll marry her, no matter what 
happens.” 

Yes, papa, you must give us your blessing,” 
said Dora softly, with a happy smile. ''Julius 
walked from the station and saw me in the 
garden, so — so he came to me first.” 

Herwig was still too much bewildered to give 
the customary blessing. He would have 
expected anything rather than this betrothal. 
His gay, saucy Dora and this blunt, reserved 
man, who held aloof from all the pleasures of 
life ! Normann doubtless read these thoughts in 
his face for he said with a touch of banter which, 
however, had no trace of ill-humor. 

" You look as if you would like to exterminate 
your future son-in-law. I don’t blame you, for 
I’m a very unamiable fellow, but that will 
change, believe me, that will change as soon as 
Dora is my wife. I’ve already begun to be 
civilized — look !” 

He thrust both hands through his hair,- a ges- 
ture quickly accomplished, for the " shock ” had 
vanished. It had been possible to keep it 
smooth only by using a bottle of hair-oil daily, 
and, as the professor felt no inclination to become 
a " perambulating pomade-pot,” he had sacrificed 
his beloved locks and now, with his close-cut 
hair and the radiant expres.sion which fairly 
transformed his morose features, looked ten 
years youngen 


The Stolen Vail 


59 


“ Yes, the beginning is promising,” said Dora, 
mischievously, but the trial will come during 
the next few weeks. We must pay betrothal 
visits to half the town.” 

Normann’s radiant face grew very long at this 
announcement, and in a melancholy voice he 
repeated : 

Betrothal visits ? Must it be done, Dora ?” 

Yes, Julius, it must,” replied the young lady 
with the decision of a fianc6 who is determined 
not to drop the sceptre during her married life. 
The professor folded his hands resignedly and 
said in a melancholy tone : 

'' If it can't be helped — so be it.” 

This was indeed self conquest, which could 
not fail to have its effect on Herwig. He gazed 
into the beseeching eyes of his child, who pressed 
closer to him, saying coaxingly : 

“ Papa, we are still waiting for your consent,” 
held out his arms, and exclaimed : 

''Well, I suppose there is nothing left for me 
to do, except to say also : ' If it can't be helped, 

so be it.' ” 

" Where is that boy, Friedel ?” cried Normann, 
after the general embracing was over. " I sent 
him away just now, because I wanted to talk to 
Dora. Friedel, where are you?” 

The lad came forward from behind the rose- 
bushes at the other end of the garden. He had 
spoken to Dora before he was sent off to be out 


6o 


The Stolen VaiL 


of the way, and now approached Professor 
Herwig who looked at him in astonishment. 
True, Friedel had only half accomplished the 
task the professor had so sternly ordered him to 
perform. He had not grown stout, but rosy- 
cheeked, and was now a slender, pretty boy 
whose blue eyes sparkled with youthful vivacity, 
like those of other lads of his age. The poor, 
stunted plant had developed into a blooming 
human flower with wonderful speed. What the 
visit to Schlehdorf had commenced, the last six 
months had completed ; the lad was evidently 
perfectly well. 

‘'Come here, Friedel, Fve hardly spoken to 
you yet,” said Dora. “ Well, how did you spend 
the winter? Did you clean boots diligently ?” 

She glanced mischievously at her betrothed 
husband, who did not seem to hear the question. 

“Fve been drawing!” exclaimed Friedel with 
bean^ing eyes. “ The professor hired another 
boot-black.” 

“ The doctor said that the boy must be spared 
work for a while,” muttered Normann in evident 
embarrassment, “ and so he has been scrawling 
from morning till night. But just wait. Now 
you are well again the scrawling and the idle 
life must both stop — and besides, you can con- 
gratulate Fraulein Dora and me too. We are 
engaged and shall soon be married.” 


The Stolen Vail 


6i 


“ Yes, I knew that in Schlehdorf,” replied 
Friedel, quietly. 

“ Well then, you knew more than we did our- 
selves,” said Dora in a jesting tone, but her 
protege looked at her with a smile. 

I thought of it first after you had gone and 
the professor did nothing but look at the vail. 
I stole the vail, and was roundly scolded for it, 
and then the professor took it away from me and 
kept it himself and looked at it morning, noon, 
and night, and Sepp — ” 

“ You ^ood-for-nothing fellow. Will you keep 
quiet?” cried Normann, trying to seize him, but 
Dora stepped between them. 

'' My vail which I could not find when we 
went away ? And what had Sepp to do with 
it ?” 

“ Don’t say another word,” said the professor 
sternly, while Dora laughingly encouraged the 
boy. 

“ Tell me, Friedel. He shall not harm you.” 

Friedel appeared to possess unerring penetra- 
tion. Fie already knew perfectly well which one 
of the couple to obey and took sides with the 
stronger party. Under her protection, he began 
to talk confidently and related the whole story 
from beginning to end. 

“ But Normann, Normann,” said Herwig, half 
smiling, half reproachful. '' A man of science 
and superstitions ! How does that agree ?” 


62 


The Stolen Vail, 


Pshaw ! Love is inexplicable, too,” replied 
Normann, looking at his fianc^ who was laugh- 
ing at him as gaily and saucily as she ever did 
in the mountains. 

And this is the man who expects us to 
respect his higher standpoint. Julius, don’t 
you feel ashamed before papa and me?” 

The professor was far too happy to be 
ashamed. He had not felt half so comfortable 
on his higher standpoint, as in this descent into 
disgraceful superstition; besides, what had a 
man’s keeping his lady-love’s vail, an(3 occasion- 
ally looking at it, to do with superstition ? That 
was entirely an affair of the heart. But why 
need that blundering fellow, Friedel, tell all 
he knew ? Normann was strongly inclined to 
collar him, but when he heard that merry, joyous 
laugh, which he had so long missed, he renounced 
all thoughts of vengeance and laughed too. 

The old gardener now appeared to say that 
Professor Normann’s baggage had been sent 
from the station. Herwig led the way into the 
house to give the necessary orders, and the 
betrothed couple slowly followed. Suddenly 
Dora stopped and pointed to a rose-bush which, 
in advance of all its companions, was covered 
with fresh green foliage. 

'‘That is my last year’s nursling. See how 
vigorously it is growing, it will have a quantity 


The Stolen VaiL 


6 


of roses in the summer. And Friedel, we will 
keep him with us.” 

So that he may be continually spying about 
as he did in Schlehdorf. I'll take good care to 
prevent it. I’ll go with him to-morrow to your 
teacher, who will probably pronounce him a 
prodigy, like all the artists I consulted at home. 
They are unanimous over what they call the 
youth’s marvellous talent. He can attend the 
drawing-school and later the academy and, if he 
doesn’t become a famous man in ten years. I’ll 
wring his neck.” 

Friedel heard neither this determination of his 
future nor the terrible threat which accom- 
panied it. He had gone forward with Professor 
Herwig, and the story of the vail was still run- 
ning in his head. He had stolen the vail and the 
professor had won the bride. This did not seem 
to suit the legend and Friedel could not under- 
stand it. But at last he consoled himself with 
the reflection that, after all, he had been the 
principal personage in the whole affair for^ — as 
old Sepp had emphasized — the vail must be 
stolen. 


THE END. 


... 


: X r '■“’ » ’V’ t> ■ V ** ’• ' 

r . i;’ ' ■• V ; ^ ,* , 

^ lU ^1 <<•. .■ ' / 


V . . *■ V 


M- - .*’• -v; 

* '\'* '“v- 


I 


• 

.♦*• e' 


'•”" vi '"• . » »' 

'/ » t* . . ^ •*' - 

^ « *4, 

« — ^ 


-..••( •* 


V>V 




.. 


- r-v 

V . . P 


I 


V . 


»• 

’ T ■• .■ 


•i'-' 


"r *\ 




■V ♦ ' • - 


i * * ' 

- r:i- 

« ■ . * 

** ' , 

^ -"S 

•• ✓ 

. « •. w ► 

‘v: 

s • : V , ’ 

* '-• ^ 

' V • S. '. ' * 

•1 

* •> '~ 

^ • 

• ' 1 ^ ^ ’ ♦ 


1 * ^ 


* t ‘ ^ % '« 4^ 

' % V -• 

t », » ^ ■ ' y 

•< * - • ‘ ' 


^ , i *'>ri 
. ~r V- . 



w *. -A- /• 

* - -> • 

^rv- '’■ * 

- - •■ V “ . ' 


✓ 

.\ 


/ ^ \ \ 




C-rH'-"'- 


1 • 

‘‘0 ■■•! 

t. »• I 


.S ; • 


jC 


J-.' 


^ . V 


> v;- 


1 . 


* t • 


M. 

"A.'/ 


1 






*. • ■ '-^ •■ -l^v**’** • 

.- ,.■, ;l/. ;, ^ . . , - 

>.71,. ^. I .. V, /t ^ 

^ \ ^ « « L-- » H 


i : j- 


^ •» ••j •- 

.• / 


t 

4 

\ 


<• f 

» « 4 


» 4 

K 




f 

■■: 




■ ■ r 

« T 


r •* 
» > 


• >. ^ » -^ • -V 

*' •’!-*•• 


'•-f 




'it* * • * 

y *. . '• «,.;*» n* ./' .*^ 

. ^ . V * 




I 

.f- .•-« 


'% t '* 


♦ 

• * 


f. 


•* . 

» 


:> - ■■' 


V rv 


\ 

■r }■ 


r 

« f 


> \ 


• 't 


* ■'. rv 


‘i 

.9 


\ V ' 


^ * 

•X 


■\ 




.■: h ’ j?-’i'' ’<■' i 

;,. 'v ' ''--^ ■* 


. ■ I * > 

: ' . V ' ' ' ' ^ 


I' 


t J 


^ i ■ / 

I . * : • .1 

.•••to. jF>* >1 ^ • • 

1?^^' '■■■ ■ 

'i ' - <« ^r, si- . r 

: - -V ,. ^. .. -'^.:. :;/..v. ■ 

m « ^ 


* ' 


f 

K ^ r i » 


^ f ■ » 




p 


i . 




• » ’ *’ • . ^ 



^ \ 


(K 

t 4 





t 

U' 


r . , 

, * 0 


^ W * 


t i 

'.' » 


,- \ A* / 


i:-l 


. -'^' ‘3 


s- 


c.^ 


t ' . 


• I 

•* » 


t . 


I ’ 


1 • 


Bi 







i. ' 


r> 

- - y"-’ -Si ■ 

s:- > ' 




■Vi'" 


, ^r' >V-::jc 



vr 


s t - » •, 

'. 1 


■i ,f'V; 


. 


mM; 


• 

i>»; ' ■ 


* AC w 


... 'f. 

* . ^ 


: ' 




t 

. f 

< 


Nv .<* 




• 4 


*■ 


-ri&\ • ‘iv> A , ■• * 

8 . -I. , - * -^ 


' t:' 


i • 

r.. 


/ 

‘* 

.-*.J 


■ /•*/ i 


r 




. » ^ 


-’lAvV ; ' 

''V''" 


rf 



k.** •* "V- ' ■- * ' ' • • . ■ ’ ■ . . * 


.; *1 


9 . 





4 T 




r i 



*t i' 


.y V 

« " ♦ ♦ 

• . 


i 

. '< 

j % 0 ^ 

T • . ■ 

r / V*. 

*► • ‘ ■ ■ . * 

« 

• - y / • 

•’>> 

• 

■ >-* 

H|' 

■« * ' 





•^4 r— - 

>5 ^ 


4 , 


I 


« < ^ .■' 


. f . 


;--. v 


h * 






r*;, 

^ j , 


r 




, ' » -f 


^ 1 ' ' " 
'!• -.< *' • '* 



! 


^ M « ^ 


/* 


.V A. 
_sl.. 




t,' , 
. fv 


V 







y 


r* ' 

i.iS 


4 , ^ 
4 


•'». 


' I 


, y 


« .V 




*• > ' 

• ' Vv 

'■ ?'>r 

K'^- * . 


' . 


. i 




«* 



' 

c. 


y 






•« 


% - • 
fL-A.. 


>• . ' 


•THE UNSIGNED MHEL. 


S' - 


?r' 








« ^ r 


\ - 




ijJ*- 






;? , 



I f , 


y 







V 




> 9 *-. 


N. 




CHAPTER I. 

NLY a single window of the 
stately old German manor- 
house was illuminated ; every- 
where else all was as dark and 
still within as without. Shadows 
moved behind the closed cur- 
tains ; the lamp was carefully 
shaded, and the valances of the 
high, four-post bed were drawn 
partly back. On the pillow lay 
an old man over sixty years of age, with white 
hair and sunken countenance. His eyes flashed 
restlessly whenever he aroused himself from the 
light slumber into which he now and then fell. 
Although very ill, perhaps dying, it was mani- 

[67] 



68 


The Uiisigiied Will, 


fest that he was yet complete master of his 
mental faculties. Between his fingers he held a 
crumpled sheet of paper, and from time to time 
his glance sought the face of the silent watcher 
at his bedside. 

“ Rudolph,"' whispered he, why doesn’t the 
notary come ? I have so little time to wait.” 

The person addressed, evidently the physician, 
furtively felt the pulse of the dying man, then 
looked uneasily toward the two men who, with 
caps in their hands, sat over in the corner. 

‘‘ The notary,” he said, “ will soon be here. In 
the meantime, Andreas, take this powder.” 

The invalid swallowed the medicine with dif- 
ficulty. 

“ Musk !” he whispered. “ Good ! Good ! I 
must live at any price until this will is signed.” 

Again there ensued a pause. In spite of the 
precautionary measures that had been taken, it 
was soon evident that the patient was sinking 
rapidly ; and the doctor bent anxiously over 
him. 

Andreas,” he said, speaking kindly and with 
emotion, you are a man ; you knew always that 
your suffering was past remedy. There is some- 
thing that you should communicate to me, your 
oldest and lifelong friend. Speak now.” 

The sick man shook his head. 

“ Is death so near, Rudolph ? So near ! Why 
doesn’t Dahlberg come ?” 


The U7isigned WilL 


69 


Doctor Arning held his friend’s hand between 
his own. 

“ Andreas, shall I call your wife ?” 

‘‘No! No! I will live — I must live — until 
the will is signed !” 

At this moment the sound of carriage-wheels 
were heard in the court below. The doctor 
wiped the perspiration from his brow. 

“ Andreas,” said he, “ Dahlberg has come. 
Oh, why, why did you wait until this night ?” 

The dying man gave a short and bitter laugh. 

“ Wherefore, Rudolph ? Perhaps it was the 
only means by which I was able to accomplish 
my object, friend. Now I will beg you to call 
the notary, and you, yourself, remain with me 
until all is over. Do you understand me ? How 
fortunate that you returned from your journey 
to-day !” 

The physician was silent and deeply moved. 
The few words told to him a long, sad histor}^ ; 
he did not again venture to make any inquiries. 

The notary now entered, followed by his clerk. 
A look from the doctor explained the patient’s 
condition. After a short greeting, he bent af- 
fectionately over the dying man. 

“ How goes it with you, Andreas?” he asked. 

Andreas moved his head uneasily from side to 
side. 

“ Meinhold,” gasped he, “ I have no time to 
waste. Make haste ! Make haste, I pray ! 


70 


The Unsigned WilL 


Here is my will. Oh, 1 die so willingly — so 
willingly !” 

He gave the notary a slip of paper, written 
with his own hand, evidently very old. Doubt- 
less it had been preserved a long time in some 
secret hiding-place. 

'‘Write,’’ whispered he; “write, Meinhold ! 
The lamp is growing dim ; light a candle.” 

The pen of the clerk flew over the paper. 
Again an intelligent glance passed between the 
doctor and the notary. In five minutes the will 
was ready for the signature. Doctor Arning sup- 
ported the patient, while Dahlberg with one 
hand gave him the pen, and with the other held 
the light. Over the pale, death-like countenance 
passed a smile of triumph. “ At last ! At last !” 

The watchers held their breath as the pen so 
unsteadily guided approached the paper, then 
fell, and a shudder ran through the frame of the 
dying man. Something like a groan broke from 
his lips as he saw the blot made by the fallen 
pen upon the paper. Doctor Arning bent lower 
over his friend ; the others maintained a reverent 
silence. 

Several minutes passed, than the old physician 
raised himself, and let the lifeless body slip softly 
from his arms back upon the pillow. 

“Too late!” he said, sadly; “A moment — 
one short moment too late ! He is dead !” 

The notary seemed greatly mov^ed. As the 


The Unsigned Will. 


T 


clerk and witness noiselessly left the death- 
chamber, he approached his old friend. 

That unfortunate child,"' lie said ; she will 
probably not receive one penny from the bounty 
of her aunt.’" 

The doctor nodded. 

Not one penny, Meinhold. That poor girl 
was the only real subject of continuous dispute 
between our poor Andreas and his wife. I have 
been here dailj, and am, alas ! only too well 
acquainted with these sad circumstances. Frau 
Berning hates the child of her sister-in-law."" 

Dahlberg held out his hand to him. 

I thank you, Rudolph, for this intelligence,"" 
said he ; “ I will at least say a good word for the 
poor chid, now — immediately in this solemn 
hour. Will you accompany me ?’" 

The physician shook his head. 

“ Not now, Meinhold, and it is of no use. You 
can more easily soften a stone than the heart of 
this woman."" 

But Dahlberg did not allow himself to be dis- 
couraged. After a silent but heartfelt farewell 
over the body of his old friend, he went at once 
to the room of the mistress of the house. Frau 
Berning was still beautiful, but hardness and 
pride were clearly traced upon her repellent 
countenance. In her apartments all was ele- 
gance and comfort ; silken hangings and rare 
works of art on every side. A painful contrast 


72 


The Unsigned Will, 


to the desolate chamber, where among strangers 
the tormented and lonesome soul of the master 
of this castle had just passed away. 

Dahlberg perceived the contrast with pain, as 
he entered in answer to the summons. Frau 
Berning remained standing at the window, in an 
icy, almost insulting, attitude. 

‘‘To what do I owe the honor of your visit, 
Mr. Notary ?” asked she. “ It is highly probable 
that a will has been prepared by you, a docu- 
ment which the rights of my son — 

Dahlberg’s glance silenced her. 

He approached her, still holding in his hand 
his hat, which she had not offered to take. 

“Frau Berning,’' said he, in stern tones, “ do 
you know what has occurred in this house 
within the last few minutes ?” 

No muscle of the lady’s face changed. 

“A servant brought me the long-anticipated 
message,” answered she, quietly. “ But to 
return again to the will, so — ” 

“ Alas ! it did not become valid in law !” 

“ Not valid !” she almost screamed ; “ not valid, 
Notary ? And what prevented this insane plan ?” 

“Death, honored madam!” He took from 
his pocket the unsigned will, and showed her the 
blot made by the fallen pen. “ This document 
needed only the signatures of the testators,” said 
he, seating himself. “It is the proof of what 
Andreas Berning in his last moments most earn- 


The Unsigned Will. 


73 


estly wished, and would have become legal had 
God permitted him to live one minute longer. I 
hope, I expect from your reverence for the dead, 
from your sense of justice, that you will hold as 
sacred the directions contained in it.’* 

The lady laughed mockingly. 

What is contained in this valueless paper, 
Mr. Notary?” 

Dahlberg’s heart sank. 

May I read it to you? I will beg you to 
listen : 

I, Julius Andreas Berning, hereby bequeath 
from my estate to Antonia Clara Armfeld, minor 
daughter of my deceased and only sister, Henri- 
etta Maria Armfeld, nee Berning, now living in 
my house, the sum of fifty thousand thalers^ and 
she shall receive the interest upon this sum from 
this day forward, and further, 1 direct that 
the said Antotiia Clara shall remain in my house 
until she shall marry, and shall in all respects be 
treated as my own daughter.’ 

‘‘ Surely, Frau Berning,” said the notary, 
beseechingly, you will acknowledge this !” 

The widow seated herself leisurely upon a 
sofa, while she waved her hand toward a chair 
opposite for her visitor, which tardy invitation 
Herr Dahlberg allowed to pass unheeded. 

'' I will have no part in the robbery planned 


74 


The Unsigned Will, 


against my son,” she said, sharply. The whole 
thing is a madness resulting from fever, the out- 
growth of disease. M}^ niece neither remains in 
this house, nor shall she receive one penny from 
me.” 

Dahlberg was not now frightened, and a 
spirit of revolt rose within him. 

How !” cried he, will you dispossess that 
unfortunate child ? Impossible !” 

The lady shrugged her shoulders. 

I say that the unwelcome stranger must go^ 
Notary, and that is all about it!” 

The eyes of the honest man flashed. 

But,'’ cried he, passionately, '' how do you 
know that your dead husband had not some 
especial reasons for this determination, Frau 
Berning ?” 

She was so suddenly and violently alarmed that 
her consternation was perfectly apparent. 

Reasons, Notary ? Reasons? Has your dear 
Andreas made any such statement?’* 

This was uttered in a hoarse, scarcely intelli- 
gible whisper. As if in deadly fear Dahlberg 
wavered. One, yes, even half an admission, and 
the victory was won, but at the price of a lie ; 
perhaps, indeed, the accusation of the dead. 

Only a second did he hesitate, then he shook 
his head. 

“ No, Frau Berning, not a word,” 

- Ah !” 


The Ufisigned JVtlL 


75 


The lady tremblingly pressed her handkerchief 
to her lips, but the color which mounted to her 
brows showed how excited she had become. 

I believe our conversation is at an end, Mr. 
Notary,’' she said, rising. “ My resolution is 
taken. The child must leave this house immedi- 
ately after the funeral.” 

‘‘ And whither, if I may ask ? She has not a 
farthing of her own in the world, madam. Shall 
your niece go to the poorhouse?” 

Frau Berning shrugged her shoulders. 

God prosper her. 1 shall trouble myself in 
no way about her fate.” 

The old man seized his hat, which he had, in 
the heat of conversation, laid upon the table. 

‘‘ May heaven forgive you !” he ejaculated. 

I have the honor to wish you good-night.” 

She laughed, bowing her head proudly. 

'' Yet first, Mr. Notary, if I may dare : The 
so-called will is my property, at any rate, is it 
not? You will, without doubt, leave the paper 
here; in return for which, I will take pleasure 
in settling your account for you.” 

“ I thank you very much, madam,” he answered, 
gruffly. ‘‘ The paper was paid for by me; also 
the clerk ; consequently, I cannot see how you 
can have any property in it. I am your most 
obedient — ” 

He was out of the room almost while speaking 
giving her no chance to detain him, and immedi- 


76 


The Unsigned Will, 


ately thrust into his pocket the fatal document, 
whose contents she would so willingly have 
concealed from the whole world. This one 
bitter feeling nearly destroyed Frau Berning’s 
almost intoxicating triumph; but, nevertheless, the 
feeling of unexpected joy rose higher and higher 
in her soul. 

Only half an hour ago, she had stood looking 
out into the drear}’’ November night, when all 
had seemed lost, vainly struggling against what 
seemed the superior power of fate, when sud- 
denly the threatened danger was removed, 
and she remained after, as before her husband’s 
death, in possession. 

No one dared command, no one dared force 
her to suffer the existence of that hated being 
near herself. 

Taking a lamp, she stepped rapidly but com- 
posedly through the corridor until she came to 
the chamber of death, where she startled the old 
woman who was watching by the dead, whom, 
with an imperious wave of the hand, she ordered 
to depart. Then, when she was alone, she went 
to thebed»and threw aside the cloth that covered 
the face of the dead. Her glance sought, 
without one trace of emotion or one sigh, the 
face of the man with whom she had lived for 
twenty long years so cheerless, heartless and 
unhappy a married life ; toward whom, during 
the past few years, she had cherished a feeling 


77 


The Unsigited Will, 


of bitter and relentless hatred. Now this was 
all over, all past, as if it had never been. 

Regina Berning laid her warm and brilliantly 
ringed hand upon the icy forehead of the dead. 

“ Sleep, Andreas,’' she said, half aloud, as if 
speaking to him. To-day I make my peace 
with you.” And then she replaced the cloth. 

But there was yet another visit for her to make 
this dreadful night ; another triumph for her to 
enjoy. ^ ^ ^ 

In the corner of a little, plainly furnished 
room, at the back of the house, stood a small bed 
and toward this room and bed the proud woman, 
in her flowing silk gown, and with her lamp- 
shade lowered, directed her noiseless step. 

She had entered the room quite silently, and 
was greatly startled to find that, in spite of her 
precautions, two large eyes with intelligent 
expression, were regarding her anxiously from 
the pillow. 

Upon the bed lay a young girl, perhaps twelve 
or thirteen years old, whose rosy face upon , a 
background of fresh, white linen had a rarer 
charm than any flower. Her brown locks hung 
around her head ; one arm had escaped from the 
loose draperies of the bed, and the delicately 
rounded neck showed a line that would have 
delighted a sculptor. But the most attractive 
feature about the child was her beautiful hazel 
eyes, with long, silken lashes, which looked at 


78 The Unsigited Will. 


you with a gentle expression of innocence and 
amiability. 

“ Aunt/* whispered Toni, ‘‘1 have heard so 
many strange steps going to and fro in the house 
to-night ; has anything happened to my poor 
uncle ?” 

Frau Regina remained unmoved by the anxious 
voice of the child opposite her. Indeed, in the 
expression of her cold, gray eyes mere indiffer- 
ence gave place to hatred and a hidden passion. 
She rejoiced in the blow which, with her own 
hand, she could deal to this young and defence- 
less creature. 

Andreas Berning died to-night,*’ she said, 
without a word of warning, and then turned to 
leave the room. 

One frightened cry rang out from the lips of 
the child. 

** Dead !*’ cried she, with a shudder, for the sad 
word had pierced her heart. ‘^Dear aunt, do 
not leave me alone — in the dark! Oh, do- stay 
with me !’* 

Frau Regina went from the room as quietly 
and calmly as if she had heard nothing. Around 
the corners of her mouth lurked a hard, cruel 
smile. 



I 

CHAPTER 11. 

Five years had passed. An eternity, if they 
lie before us full of threatening and of pain, but 
as nothing when they lie behind us, whether they 
brought us tears or joy. 

Two young men sat together in a small, but 
well-ordered counting-room, which was both 
elegantly and attractively furnished. One was 
smoking, while before him upon a table were a 
wine-glass and a cigar-box. The other, manifest!}^ 
at home here, in neglig^ and wearing eye-glasses, 
was a young advocate, Ernest Dahlberg, the son 
of the old notary, who had succeeded to the 
practice of his deceased father. His friend was 
Oscar Berning, the young master of Schorndorf. 
Oscar, who was taller and more commanding 
than Dahlberg, had the deep-gray eyes and 
haughty bearing of his mother. He, however, 
lacked her faculty for business, and, since reach- 
ing his majority, had allowed his tenants to 
manage the estate, that he might escape the 

[79] 



8o 


The Unsigned Will, 


wearisome work of the landlord, which would 
have encroached upon his valuable leisure. 

Oscar, since his earliest recollection, had been 
accustomed to hear from his mother that he was 
born to riches, good fortune and enjoyment. 
He had, while yet a boy, large sums of money at 
his disposal, and only his desire for knowledge 
and keen, penetrating intellect had he to thank, 
that he had not grown up an ignorant, arrogant 
and worthless man. Frau Regina, in her blind 
idolatry for her only son, had always said: Be 

happy,’' never for one moment imagining so idle 
a life could possibly be a burden to him. Oscar 
learned easily ; he studied, traveled and acquired 
a liberal culture ; but he was at heart the egotist 
which his mother’s ill-judged training had made 
him. His own personality, notwithstanding all 
his intelligence and amiability, was for him, 
though, perhaps, unconsciously, the center of 
creation. He simply denied the existence of 
whatever was disagreeable or repulsive; he 
waived all such things out of his life, without 
asking how far the rights of others might be 
injured by such a course. 

'‘Now,” he said, suspiciously, " I see in your 
face, Ernest, that you are about to favor me with 
some sort of a moral lecture. Is there no possi- 
bility of ni}’’ escaping it?” 

" Scarcely,” was the somewhat ironical answer. 


The Unsigned WilL 


8i 


“ You must begin to value the worth of money 
more, Oscar, as well as — 

I thank you very much, but spare me the 
conclusion, I beg, my dear boy. It will, I trust, 
keep for a while.” 

The advocate shook his head. 

You are a wealthy man, Oscar, although you 
have from year to year impaired your income. 
Your father accumulated capital, and was con- 
stantly increasing it; you, with your ability to 
waste, have shamefully squandered it.” 

For one moment the young exquisite appeared 
startled. 

'‘What does it matter?” said he, helplessly. 
" Shall I from early morning until late at night 
drive the horse and plow the fields and thresh, 
or haggle with the corn dealers? Better not 
live at ail.” 

Dahlberg drew his fingers along the edge of a 
map. 

"That is inconceivable to me,” he said. 
" Heavens, if I possessed such a magnificent es- 
tate in this blessed fatherland, such lands — ah, if 
I owned but the tenth part of them ! — 1 would be 
as happy as a god.” 

" But my fortune is not in question here,” con- 
tinued he, after a pause. " You must, in future, 
spend less than you have done the past year. 
You must reduce your household expenses — in- 
stead of six or seven fine horses, keep only two. 


82 


The Unsigned WilL 


and lastly, you should not purchase such expen- 
sive toys. That additional building, with the 
internal improvements, has alone cost twenty 
thousand thalers, while it does not yield a penny 
of profit.’' 

Oscar answered nothing ; indeed for the mo- 
ment his soul was far removed from his sur- 
roundings, and he had not heard one word the 
young advocate had uttered. He saw, in his 
mind’s eye, a beautiful room, exquisitely decor- 
ated in blue and gold, and, most beautiful of all, 
a charming young maiden with curling, brown 
locks and hazel eyes. Ah, eyes which he could 
never forget, and whose loveliness had pursued 
him and threatened to destroy his peace. 

He had spoken to her also of his estate ; she 
had sketched pictures and drawn plans while he 
sat listening, and he had thought that the lovely 
being must be a supernatural creation, and her 
voice, the voice of fate. 

While moonbeams had played around the 
lovely head, and had danced like shadows, or 
frolicsome silver fairy-rings, through the room, 
the 3^oung lips had painted alluring pictures or 
had spoken to him of the nobility of life. 

‘‘ Were I in your place,” said the maiden with 
the star-like eyes, I should make beautiful 
Schorndorf a bit of Eden upon earth. I would 
put the great waste heath under cultivation ; the 
water from the river would give it over a hun- 


The Unsigned Will, 


83 


dred small canals, and all the poor day laborers 
from the wretched village huts could possess 
comfortable homes and cultivate their own little 
gardens. They would then be able to assist their 
aged parents, and train their children to be cap- 
able and useful men and women ; each little 
family with its small possession, would be for me 
a visible living blessing. Now only the plover 
flies over the worthless and uncultivated heath, 
while in her ground lies unbroken the treasure 
that would bring happiness and peace to deserv- 
ing hundreds.’' 

It was a pleasure to him to hear the soft, melo- 
dious voice, and see the prophetic glance of 
those wonderful eyes. 

'' My Schorndorf !” she had said. My beau- 
tiful Schorndorf !” 

The sound of her voice was so tender and 
sorrowful that he felt himself strangely agitated, 
and his heart beat painfully. 

He had pressed his lips to her hand, and had 
whispered passionate words, and he soon recalled 
how the tears had glistened like diamonds upon 
her eye-lashes. 

Of what are you thinking so earnestly?” 
asked Dahlberg. ‘‘ I had not meant to frighten 
you, Oscar.” 

What—? 

And Berning turned towards him, as if awak- 
ened from a dream. 


84 


The Unsigned Will, 


‘‘Forgive me, Ernest, 1 did not hear what you 
said. What was it ?'’ 

Dahlberg laughed. 

“ I warned you, Oscar, that it was necessary 
for you to follow my advice ; but do as you 
think fit. You are your own master. I have 
another and a more interesting subject upon 
which to talk to-day.'’ 

“ And that is?” said the young man, carelessly. 

It mattered little to him what answer his 
companion would make. He only uttered the 
query out of politeness. 

The advocate appeared busily employed with 
the tobacco box. He had so placed himself that 
it was impossible for Oscar to see his face or 
note its expression. 

“ You well know,” began he, “for I told you at 
the time, that I found among my father’s papers 
the codicil which your father had added to the 
will before his death. The poor man died just 
as he was about to sign it — died with the pen in 
his hand; but you know all the particulars of 
that sad time. You refused most decidedly to 
make good this last and anxiously desired will of 
your father and — 

“And now my precious cousin has probably 
written you a tearful letter. Is it not so, Er- 
nest ?” interrupted the young heir, scornfully. 
“ She has been out of a situation for a couple of 
months, or is sick or destitute. Which is it ? At 


all events, she begs you, in six pages, to soften 
my hard heart and send her at least a hundred 
thalers. Is it not so ?” 

'‘No,'' answered the advocate, coolly; "noth- 
ing of that sort, Oscar. But I have discovered, 
quite unexpectedly, that your beautiful cousin is 
identical with a young lady whom we both know 
— with Fraulein Armfeld, the companion of the 
beautiful Countess Hartenstein of Schlossberg." 

"What do you say? What?" Berning had 
become deadly pale, his eyes burned, and he 
almost gasped for breath. " She, did you say ? 
She—?" 

Dahlberg nodded. 

" That beautiful and amiable maiden," said he, 
half aloud ; " that magnificent creature ; that 
highly-cultivated lady, and yet so charmingly 
unaffected. Do you remember her, Oscar?" 

The question sounded like bitter scorn, and 
added no little to the heart-ache its hearer felt so 
keenly. 

"Slightly, I believe," he answered; "but 
that is not the question here, Ernest. Does she 
know the contents of that insane will ? For that 
I am the son of her uncle she must certainly 
know." 

" That is at least probable. Did you and she 
never meet as children?" 

" Never. 1 was away at the university, and 
seldom came home. I never remember even 


86 The Unsigned Will, 


having heard her name. But answer me, Ernest : 
Does she know the contents of that paper ? 
Surely — 1 read it in your eyes.” 

In truth,” said Dahlberg, I believe she does, 
although I am not positive.” 

Oscar gazed at him scornfully. 

**You are very innocent!” he cried. Ha ! 
Ha! Ha! The device is transparent, my good 
friend. She received that document from your 
hand.” 

Oscar !” 

What is your pleasure ? But why do I allow 
myself to become enraged?” added he, shrug- 
ging his shoulders. ** Show her what you will, 
do what you can, it matters not to me. I have 
the law with me. The whole world may hear 
that I was not inclined to present to a stranger 
fifty thousand thalers from an inheritance that 
had cost my mother such bitter tears — indeed, 
that had caused her unhappiness during her 
entire married life. None but a lunatic would 
do such a thing !” 

He had thrown his cigar down, and now 
hastily drew on his gloves. 

Adieu, Ernest. I will not disturb you any 
longer.” 

The young advocate shook his head. 

Oscar, will you not give me time to justify 
myself? You are doing a great injustice to an 
old friend.” 


The Unsigned Will, 87 


Oscar turned on his heel. 

Judge of that as you will. Good evening.” 

And then he went out, believing that the deep 
wound he had just received would be concealed 
under his careless exterior. He went, in great 
agitation, direct to the great house at Schloss- 
berg, the residence of the Countess Hartenstein. 

How deepl}" his friend’s news had disturbed 
him ! How ruthlessly had it destroyed the 
dream of the last month ! 

He had gone very often to the house of the 
fashionable young widow, the Countess of Hart- 
enstein ; indeed, more frequently than any of the 
other cavaliers, who, like him, spent their days in 
idle amusement or reckless dissipation. He was 
always most welcome, perhaps because the aristo- 
cratic charms of the young countess had appeared 
to make no impression upon him. Indeed, all her 
vaunted sorceries seemed to have no power over 
him ; and, partly in anger, she had conferred 
upon him the title of Youthful Patriarch,” 
which, indeed, seemed most appropriate. She 
did not imagine nor did any one else, why he came 
so frequently. In the drawing-room he sometimes 
met the companion, the beautiful, gentle girl 
mentioned before. He heard her soft, friendly 
greeting ; he basked in the glance of her beautiful 
e3^es ; and when, in the changing mood of her 
young mistress, she was summoned to the piano, 
he forgot all else in listening to her thrilling tones. 


88 


The Unsigned WilL 


So sings the birch to the heath,” she had said 
to him; “so sounds the sorrowful November 
wind. Have you not heard it?” 

And gradually their acquaintance ripened 
into intimacy. 

He was often at the mansion some little time 
before the countess was informed of his presence, 
and was thus able to have fifteen or twenty 
minutes' chat alone with the companion, always 
holding her hand and feeling no desire to free 
himself from the meshes she was weaving around 
his heart ; happy for the first time, and almost 
filled with reverence as he gazed on the young 
and charming creature opposite him, and jealous 
of the secret which he and she together were 
hiding from the world. While no promise had 
been given on either side, each understood the 
feeling of the other. He had stood by her at the 
window and drawn her gently to himself until 
her head lay upon his shoulder, and had kissed 
the tears from the long, silken lashes ; and then 
the question had risen to his lips : 

“ Toni, do you love me?” 

She only looked at him, for they were 
immediately interrupted by the entrance of a 
third person ; and later she was obliged to play 
and sing at the bidding of the countess. 

As the music sounded, gay and joyful, it 
seemed to bring to him a thousand greetings of 
unspeakable joy ; but when it suddenly changed 


The Unsigned VVilL 


89 


to a low and plaintive melody, it sounded like 
the voice of a bird bidding farewell forever to 
its mate. He saw, in fancy, his home, the old 
heath castle, with mighty oaks and lofty towers, 
and himself standing at the window, but alone 
and pale and full of deadly sorrow. 

What was it ? Had he lost her, that life of his 
life? He started. 

The music had died away ; the twilight wove 
its] shadows around the lovely brown head, and 
the countess tapped him lightly upon the 
shoulder with her fan. 

Are 370U dreaming, my friend ?” 

Yes, he had been dreaming; a vision had sud- 
denly taken possession of his soul, and it was 
with difficulty that he regained his self-control. 

“ You do not answer,” continued the hostess. 

You are absolutely barbarous — quite blasi — for 
m}^ little Toni has never sung and played so well 
before.” 

He bent low and kissed the hand of the young 
musician, as though she had been a queen. The 
Countess Emilie looked surprised, while Toni 
hurriedly left the room ; and it seemed as if she 
sobbed as she passed out. 

And so to-day he had resolved to openly press 
his suit. Then came Ernest with his wretched and 
unexpected communication, suddenly destroy- 
ing his new happiness, turning his blood to 
poison, indeed, almost killing him. 


90 


The Uiisigiied WilL 


Oscar had seen so much of woman’s treachery 
that a deep and ineradicable distrust had taken 
possession of his soul. He had seen deception 
in every cordial word, and avarice and flattery 
in every friendly advance, until he met Toni, and 
for the first time believed himself beloved for 
his own sake, and not for the sake of his wealth. 
Now he laughed, bitterly and scornfully : 

'' She, of all others !” 

And she had completely ensnared him. He 
would show her that it was not so easy to 
deceive him ; that he had both the strength and 
courage to break the net she had woven. Toni 
had known from the beginning who he was ; she 
had even known the contents of the will. Hence 
her interest in him, and her unconcealed encour- 
agement. Had she been honest and frank with 
him, he would not have hesitated to make her 
his wife, in spite of all that had happened. But 
now — never ! Her punishment should be bitter 
and humiliating. She should suffer as he suf- 
fered. 

She met him in the drawing-room, as usual. 
Her gray gown, with its broad satin embroider- 
ies and flame-colored bows, set off to advantage 
her graceful, willowy figure, while the timid 
glance and flushed cheek made her appear 
doubly charming. Toni knew that on this 
evening Oscar intended to present her to the 
countess as his betrothed. His own heart beat 


painfully, but he felt the bitter disappointment 
keenly, and the deception and his wounded pride 
made him forget all else. 

His manner was cold and forbidding. 

'' Is your mistress at home ?” he asked, as 
though addressing a servant. Please announce 
to her my presence.’' 

The young girl looked at him, turned suddenly 
pale and reached out her hand, as though 
groping for support. 

What was it ? What had happened ? 

He rejoiced in his own bleeding heart at her 
fright. He hoped she might suffer and execrate 
a thousand times her false play. 

He had been in the habit, for some time past, 
of entering the house unannounced ; so now he 
repeated his wish that the Countess Emilie be 
informed of his presence, in order that he might 
— for the first time — pay court to her. 

Never before had he shone forth so brilliantly 
in conversation as on that evening, or displayed 
such wit and quickness at repartee ; but he 
entirely ignored the companion, and when the 
countess ordered her to repeat the song she had 
yesterday sung so effectively, he shook his head, 
with a gesture of comical despair. 

Not to-night, dear Countess, I implore you. 
These lyric tears are frightful to me.” 

The countess laughed. 

‘ Lyric tears !’ I must repeat that. Your 


Q2 The Unsigned WilL 


reputation for possessing a heart of ice will rise 
one degree higher — '' 

''1? A heart of ice?” interrupted he, half- 
aloud, with a significant glance, and does the 
Countess Ernilie make that assertion ?” 

His tone disconcerted her slightly. And 
when he pressed her hand gently while speaking, 
she could hardly realize it was Oscar Berning. 
She asked herself whether he was not striving to 
overcome some disappointed affection. 

But that was of no consequence to her. Why 
not a little amusement? Why not play with 
fire ? It would be a pleasant pastime and relieve 
the monotony of the day, and a passing flirtation 
would afford her a little excitement, and the 
victim, if Herr Berning should, after all, 
prove susceptible, must take care of himself — 
that was his affair, not hers. 

Toni was restless on this eventful evening, and 
went occasionally into the adjoining room and 
there — Oscar perceived with secret triumph — 
pressed her burning brow against the window- 
pane, or raised her hands to her throbbing 
temples. What had happened since yester- 
day ?” She knew her lover well. Every tone 
of his voice, every glance of his eye ; he affected 
this sudden boisterous manner, he laughed from 
despair. But she could not find any clue to his 
conduct ; it was a riddle she could not solve. 
Elegant, idle young cavaliers amused themselves 


93 


The Unsisrned JVill. 

<-> 


SO often with girls in her position. After the 
dreaming and hoping, comes the awakening to 
find promises broken, hopes unfulfilled and no 
reason given ; only the lightness of heart and the 
sweet visions of future bliss have departed, and 
melancholy musings are all that remain in their 
place. Bitter tears fell upon Toni’s pale cheeks, 
and she went hastily to her own small room 
under the eaves, there to see, against the distant 
horizon, the towers of Schorndorf ; and the 
wind. seemed to bear to her across the far heath 
a greeting from the lost home of her childhood. 
Toni sobbed as she had not done since that sad 
day when, after her uncle’s funeral, her aunt had 
takeir her without any preparation to the city, 
and after placing her under the care of the guar- 
dians for the poor, had told her she should 
never return to Schorndorf — never in her life. 

To-day she felt again the same horror, the 
same terrible feeling of loneliness ; but what had 
in her childhood been a sharp pain, was now in- 
tensified as she realized how great was her loss, 
and felt how completely she was left in the dark 
as to its cause. 

An hour passed before she again returned to 
the salon. Neither the countess nor Oscar had 
seemed to notice her absence. Indeed, when he 
arose to take his departure, Oscar said he 
would always consider this evening as the 
happiest of his life. 


94 


The U7isig7ied Will. 


“You must in future receive me alone, gra- 
cious lady,'’ he had said ; “ it is so much more 
agreeable for me, and even servants are an un- 
comfortable addition.” 

The countess caught the glance direct, as he 
spoke, toward her companion. What did it 
mean? But she would find out, and then — 

Oscar went, with weary strides, over the fields 
toward Schorndorf. Alone in the night air, his 
fierce anger changed to quiet grief. 

“ Ever}^ one in the world has a friend except 
myself,” he thought, mournfully, “ I wonder 
whether my mother has pursued the right course 
in her anxiety to secure my happiness? But 
why brood over that? Whatever she did was 
done for love of me.” 

He had become quite softened, and could not 
forget Toni’s sorrowful face ; and when he met 
his mother, a few minutes later, he said, 
abruptly : 

“ Tell me, dear mother, something about my 
cousin and her life while in this house. Her 
name was Toni Armfeld, was it not? Where 
does she live now ?” 

Frau Regina started violently. 

“ Has she written to you, Oscar ?” 

“ Not a line, mother. She was called Toni 
Armfeld, was she not ?” 

He tested his strength while he spoke her 
name. His countenance remained calm, but he 


The Unsigned WilL 


95 


seemed to feel an iron hand at his throat, and the 
room swam around him. 

Where does she live now, mother?’' 

Frau Regina breathed heavily. Why this 
question ? She could not remember that Oscar 
had ever seen his cousin. 

‘‘ I have not heard of her for years,” she said, 
with a shrug. ‘‘ The child was a great hypo- 
crite, and always most repulsive to me ; she in- 
herited from her mother a false manner, and 
always succeeded in captivating the hearts of 
those who did not know her depth.” 

Mrs. Berning had become deadly pale while 
speaking, and the cup, which her son had just 
offered her, fell with a clatter upon the carpet. 

But Oscar’s own nervousness was intense, 
and he did not notice it. 

Did you know her well, mother ?” he asked. 

I — I — yes, I reared her. She had the most 
beautiful eyes and the most treacherous heart 
under the sun.” 

And softly Oscar repeated, the most beauti- 
ful eyes !” 

The evening passed very quietly. Upon both 
hearts lay an unacknowledged burden. Oscar 
kissed his mother, almost like a tired child need- 
ing consolation, as they separated for the night. 

'' It cannot last,” he said, half aloud. ‘‘ I must 
go to Africa, or the North Pole — anywhere away 
from here.” 


96 


7 Jie Unsigned WilL 


“ And leave me all alone, Oscar? Folly, folly, 
my heart’s love ! Thy happiness lies nearer 
home, and is much greater than you divine. 
Marry the Countess Hartenstein ; she loves you, 
I know it.” 

Oscar shuddered within himself. How much 
had happened during this dayj! 

After he left his mother, she wrung her hands 
in agony. 

He is unhappy, and dissatisfied with his life ! 
Oscar! Oscar! After all that I have sacrificed 
for him !” 



CHAPTER III. 

Early on the following morning, a letter came 
from Dahlberg, in which, in a few cool and 
courteous words, he declined the further man- 
agement of Oscar’s affairs. 

''You must reduce your expenses and raise 
twenty thousand thalers^'' he wrote; "otherwise 
your property is endangered. But your rich 
Australian Uncle Karl can provide for that ; for, 
as you doubtless know, he has just arrived. 
Better see what you can do. I have warned 
you.” 

Oscar’s heart beat violently as he read the 
insulting note. All this had happened on Toni’s 
account. Jealousy spoke in every line. Full of 
distrust and resentment, he crushed the letter in 
his hand. Later, it occurred to him that he 
must announce the threatened arrival of his 
uncle to his mother, for he had no doubt that 

[97] 


98 


The U^isigned Will, 


the uncle would come immediately to Schorn- 
dorf. 

Frau Regina looked at him, as though he had 
made a fearful announcement. 

“ Karl Berning !” stammered she. ^‘Impossible ! 
He is dead these many years.’' 

Oscar felt alarmed. 

“ Dahlberg wrote it, mother. But, mother! 
What is the matter ? You’re going to faint !” 

He caught the tottering and almost insane- 
looking woman in his arms. 

“ Mother, pray tell me what is the matter with 
you ?” 

His mother was now sobbing violently. 

“ When he comes, Oscar, remain with me. Do 
not desert me. But — no ! No ! Go away from 
here! You shall not speak with him at all — 
shall not see him ! Perhaps the whole thing is a 
deception. Any adventurer might seek to 
impose upon us. I will refuse him admittance 
if he comes.” 

As she spoke she trembled in every limb. 
Oscar hardly understood what he saw. His 
mother, who had always been so strong and 
self-contained, had grown suddenly so feeble 
that she had to lean against him for support. 
After a pause, he said : 

“ You are hiding something from me, mother.” 

“I?” She became angry. “I? Whoever 
says it slanders me! But you have probably 


99 


The Unsigned W'^IL 


seen your uncle ere this, and talked with him 
over old matters. Yes! Yes! 1 understand 
now why you made those inquiries yesterday 
regarding your cousin.” 

He shook his head, deeply troubled at heart. 

^‘You are mistaken. I only know that Dahlberg 
has written.” 

Frau Regina began crying again, and threw 
her arms around his neck. 

‘‘Oh, my boy! My darling!” she sobbed. 
“ Go away ! Go away ! He shall not see you ! 
I will speak to him — I alone. Leave it all to me. 
But you must go away immediately, that he may 
not see you.” 

Oscar stroked her hand mechanically. 

“No, mother; on the contrary, I will receive 
him, ” he said, quietly. “There is nothing that 
I should shun. Why should the old man want 
to injure us? Or how could he, even if he 
desired ? Why should he not live here and 
become our friend ?” 

His mother seemed about to speak, but her 
agitation compelled her to be silent. After a 
time, she so far composed herself as to say, in 
a calm tone : 

“ I never knew my dead husband’s brother. 
When I entered the family, he had already left 
the country — had been forced, I believe, to do 
so, as he had taken part in the revolution of 
1848. For years we have all thought him dead. 


roo 


The Unsigned Will, 


Why, then, does he now return to disturb our 
peaee ?’' 

Oscar’s heart sank deeper while he listened. 

Did my uncle never write?” he asked. 

Frau Berning shook her head, but no sound 
came from her lips. 

No more questions were asked, and all was 
quiet in the morning-room ; only the ticking of 
the little clock upon the escritoire disturbed the 
silence. Oscar said to himself that it was 
impossible for his mother to become so excited 
over the prospect of a casual visitor. He re- 
solved to discover what had been hidden from 
him, and in the new and threatening clouds 
which were darkening his horizon almost forgot 
the fright which Dahlberg’s communication had 
given him. Onl}^ a passing thought did he give 
to his own financial necessities. He certainly 
could never borrow from his uncle. 

The long, dreary day passed slowly. As the 
shadows began to lengthen, a carriage drove up 
the avenue and halted before the door, and 
Oscar saw his mother, for the second time, 
almost faint, as she looked out. 

“ Go,” she murmured, go !” 

But. her son remained, although he did not 
answer her, and a minute later the servant an- 
nounced : 

Herr Karl Berning.” 

In the door stood an old man, so like the dead 


The Unsigned WilL 


lOI 


master of the house, resembling him so entirely 
in every respect, that Oscar involuntarily seized 
the outstretched hand. There was no deception, 
no imposture here. The voice of nature spoke so 
unquestionably that all words were superfluous. 
The old man had such a good, honest counte- 
nance and friendly, truthful eye, that his nephew 
gave him a hearty welcome even before he him- 
self had been able to speak. 

‘‘ God bless you, my boy,” answered a deep- 
toned voice with foreign accent. “ I hope to 
become great friends with the son of my only 
brother. There — give me your hand again, you 
have the eye and smile of your father.” 

Then he turned to the pale and trembling 
woman, who had remained silently standing, and 
although he spoke to her with less warmth, his 
tones were earnest. 

My sister-in-law,” he said, “ I have without 
doubt frightened you by my sudden appearance, 
you, doubtless, believing me dead these many 
years. I wish to obtain from you one piece of 
information, and if your answer proves satisfac- 
tory, all bygones shall be forgotten and forgiven 
for aye.” 

He stood near her, his great clear eyes fixed 
upon her uneasy countenance, while she, half 
stupified, shook her head. 

I do not know what information you expect 
from me. Brother Karl,” she answered, hoarsely. 


102 


The Unsigited Will. 


almost inaudibly, ''nor how I can serve you; 
perhaps you have made a mistake. But will 
you not be seated.^” 

As Oscar had already taken his uncle’s hat 
and rolled a chair up to him, she felt obliged to 
give this invitation. 

The stranger shook his head. 

" Not yet, sister-in-law ; we must understand 
one another first. I have made no mistake, and 
I only ask from you an explanation, which you 
are fully able to give. Tell me, I beg, where I 
am to find Toni Armfeld, my sister’s daughter ?” 

It was the question Frau Regina had expected 
to hear. She waited until she could sufficiently 
compose herself, and then the two men heard 
her say : 

" I do not know !” 

" How long since you did know ?” 

" The child came to us when she was six years 
old, Herr Berning ; and in her thirteenth year, 
when my husband died, I took her back to the 
city. Since that time I have heard nothing of 
her.” 

" To whom did you give the unfortunate 
child? You cruel woman, why did you cast off 
the little waif ?” 

" Uncle,” cried his nephew sharply, flushing 
suddenly, "you must not speak to my mother in 
such a tone; in any event she had a right to do 
as she chose.” 


The U^tsigned Will, 


TO 


The darkening eyes of the old man suddenly 
met Oscar’s glance. 

We will not discuss the matter any further 
to-day,” he said; '‘it is better not. To whom 
did your worthy mother surrender the child ? I 
must discover that, and must go from here to 
the police, in order to obtain their assistance.” 

Frau Regina raised her head wearily. 

“ I could not keep the child in my house ; I 
owed her no duty ; the city officials doubtless 
took charge of her.” 

“ In plain language, madam, she was sent to 
the poor-house. God forgive you; I cannot! 
And you have no knowledge whatever of her 
present whereabouts ?” 

“ None — and I have no desire to learn.” 

“Very good! You will not be annoyed by 
me a second time. I will use every means to 
discover my niece, and to supply the place you 
have deserted. Every means, my fine sister-in- 
law ! Your conduct deserves no forbearance, 
you have — ” 

“Uncle, I must beg you to restrain yourself,” 
cried Oscar, sharply, “otherwise — ” 

“ Yes, yes, I understand, she is your mother, 
and you will protect her. You are right, my 
boy. I bid you farewell, Frau Berning.” 

Berning went from his brother’s house with- 
out having broken bread, or indeed, without 
having seated himself in it. As he left the room 


The Unsigned IVilL 


ro4 


he was followed by Oscar, whose sense of justice 
forbade him let his uncle depart without letting 
him know where Toni lived. The little he did 
know, he would tell immediately. 

One moment, uncle,’' he said ; my cousin is 
living at Schlossberg as companion to the Count- 
ess of Hartenstein. Pardon me for not telling 
you at once, but I wish to spare my mother.” 

The old man leaned heavily against the balus. 
ters and shook his head sadly. 

She has not been there since this morning,” 
he answered in a low tone. “ Oh, what madness, 
what barbarity, to drive this poor girl recklessly 
and heartlessly from her home. Whither? God 
alone knows, perhaps to her eternal ruin.” 

Oscar stood speechless, his handsome face 
alternately flushing and paling. 

The old man lifted the iron-gray hair from his 
heated head. 

I will find her,” he said, almost fiercely ; 

Toni is no longer defenseless. Does there still 
live in the city an old friend of mine named 
Meinhold Dahlberg, an advocate ?” 

Oscar shook his head. 

“ He has been dead for many years.” 

And Fritz Soltan — Englebrecht Mehrens?” 

Dead — long since.” 

It was sad news for the white-haired old man 
to hear at the end of this wearisome, disappoint- 


The Unsigned Will, 


^05 


ing day ; and as his nephew answered his iiiter- 
rogatives, he grew paler and paler. 

Now for the last/' he said, slowly, my com- 
rade in arms, my companion, Rudolph Arning 

''Thank God !” cried Oscar, " he is living and is 
prosperous.” 

" The first good news,” said the old man, hearti- 
ly. " Farewell, my son, I will come to this house 
no more.” 

Although Oscar tried to dissuade him, he 
went immediately, shaking his head sorrowfully 
as he departed, leaving the young heir alone. 
Oscar was possessed by many conflicting 
emotions, and felt he could not return to his 
mother in this frame of mind ; all within him was 
in a hopeless ferment. He was much distressed 
by the news that Toni had left Schlossberg. 
She might have been suddenly dismissed, or 
have left voluntarily, but, no matter what the 
reason given for her departure, he was sure he 
was the cause, and he felt as though he had com- 
mitted a crime. 

That day, earlier than usual, he again stood in 
the little blue boudoir where he was received 
with flattering, almost tender attention. The 
countess’ gracious reception fascinated him, and 
he gave himself without resistance to the 
impression of the moment, without allowing 
himself to reflect. The countess certainly loved 
him, and for his own sake; her overtures, at 


io6 


The Unsigned Will, 


least, were sincere. Otherwise, what could she 
seek in him — she who was so greatly his superior 
in wealth and rank? His pulse beat rapidly and 
he whispered words which in his inmost soul he 
could not feel. But when, in leaving, the 
beautiful Emilie asked him, smilingly, if he had 
missed no one to-night, he felt a sudden pang of 
anguish. 

His answer, however, was careless and 
unconstrained. 

‘‘ i\h ! Fraulein Armfeld ; indeed, 1 observe 
now, for the first time, that she is not here !” 

And yet in his heart the torture of separation 
had weighed heavily upon him all evening. 

“She was uncomfortable,'’continued the countess 
with a bewitching smile, “and I like to alter the 
decoration of my rooms now and then.” 

Oscar felt sorely tempted to reprove these 
frivolous words with an ironical remark, but 
feared to betray, to this heartless woman, the 
true state of his feelings. So, after kissing the 
hand of the fair dame and smiling significantly, 
he departed, more discontented with himself 
than he had ever been in his life before. 

He went directly to a private gambling club, 
where he was sure to meet many young men he 
knew, careless and idle, like himself, with no 
thought for the morrow and no care. Here he 
had frequently lost and won large sums, and, in 
his father’s lifetime, while he was yet a boy, his 


The Unsigned Will. 107 


mother had shielded him and taken no steps to 
prevent his continued presence at the gaming- 
table. She had said to him again and again : 

‘‘ Be happy ; that is the quintessence of worldly 
wisdom ; deprive yourself of nothing, do not mar 
one hour ; there is no necessity for it, for you are 
rich. ' 

To-night he thought again of those words, and 
with much bitterness. 

Everyone bows before the owner of great 
wealth, and he is flattered and praised because 
of his possessions ; but of what use is that when 
his day of suffering comes ?’* 

He lost heavily that night, but hardly heeded 
the fact that from three to four thousand thalers 
were left on the gaming-table. He would marry 
the* rich countess and all would be well. All? 
He dared not think. Perhaps if he had ventured 
to do so, he would have put a bullet through his 
head. 

His mother was waiting for him on his return, 
and he was unable to pass by her door un- 
observed. She had been ^greatly disturbed by 
Karl Berning’s visit, and her son was alarmed at 
her pale and excited appearance. 

‘‘ You were with your uncle, Oscar,” she 
whispered. What has he told you ? Do not 
believe him, my dear!” 

The young man shook his head. Here, too, 
was discord — his mother concealed from him 


io8 


The' Unsigned Will, 


something disgraceful, of that he was convinced^ 
and the thought wounded him deeply. Whether 
it concerned his dead father, or whether — 

A new weight was added to his already heavy 
burden, and he had nothing to do but succumb. 

I did not see him, mother,’' he answered ; I 
do not anticipate meeting him again. Good 
night; you disturb yourself without reason." 



CHAPTER IV. 

Late the following evening the two old friends 
sat in the doctor’s library, just as had been their 
habit before their long separation. They had 
always been warm friends, keeping side by side 
in their school-days, and later during the excit- 
ing events which terminated in the revolution of 
1848, until the sudden separation had been 
forced upon them. 

Karl Berning went to Australia, and was 
heard from no more ; he .was believed to be dead 
and his brother as well as his sister-in-law had 
long since ceased from all inquiries in regard to 
him. His very name had been forgotten; and 
when he appeared again so suddenly old 
memories were aroused. 

Rudolph Arning scarcely believed his eyes. 

“ And what power has brought you back to the 
old place, after an absence of thirty years, you 
restless spirit ?” he asked, after the first hearty 
greeting was over. 

The Australian shook his head. 

“ What power, Rudolph ? Ah, old friend, my 

[109] 


I lO 


The Unsigned Will, 


heart. In spite of all so-called philosophy, in 
spite of all dead hopes, the heart still beats. At 
first, after the destruction of all our hopes, I 
hated the fatherland, and never wish to see it 
again, with its chains weighing it down. Then, 
again, as a political refugee, I did not dare return. 
But, after years, the desire of the present stifled 
all feelings of bitterness from the past. I have 
formed no new ties during my absence ; have re- 
mained a stranger and a wanderer all these 
years. I have prospered, and have amassed a 
fortune, and was for a long time engaged in — 
But enough of business. Perhaps the longing 
for home still lived in my heart. I met a 
countryman of mine some months ago, and from 
him received unexpected information, which 
made me resolve to return here — Herman Bohm. 
Do you know the name, Arning?’' 

The doctor saw it all in an instant. 

Yes ; I set his broken arm for him last year. 
He was — But what did you hear? Did he tell 
you of anything of special importance, Karl?'* 

He did, indeed,** nodded Berning. He 
told me all about the scene at the death-bed of 
my poor brother. He had been summoned as a 
witness to the will. I know all. How infamous, 
Rudolph, to cast poor Henrietta’s child adrift in 
order to become possessors of base riches ! You 
know how dear my sister was to me ? How she 
always relied upon me, her elder brother? Why 


1 1 1 


llie Unsigned Will, 


I even taught her to speak. Ah, Rudolph ! 
when I heard it all, it seemed to me that I was 
the greatest sinner on earth, living so peacefully 
and quietly, and owning great wealth, while, 
poor Henrietta’s child w^as thrown among 
strangers — aye, perhaps starving !” 

The old physician laid his hand upon the arm 
of his friend, with a quiet smile. 

‘'You forgot me, Karl. Was I not there to 
shield Toni U 

“ You T' almost shouted Berning. “ You, 
Rudolph? O, you good man ! You faithful, 
true friend ! I remember Henrietta was your 
ideal in your youth, and you have always loved 
her memory, and have loved her child for her 
sake.” 

Arning shook his head slowly. 

“ What do we old fellows know now of love ?” 
said he, with a good-natured banter. “ I still 
keep a place in my heart and life for your sister, 
to the exclusion of all others ; that is all. But I 
have kept Toni at a good educational institute 
for several years, in order she might receive an 
education that would enable her to maintain her- 
self. That was but little for me to do, and 
assuredly my duty.” 

The eyes of the old Australian glistened. 

“ I will not permit you to lose one groschen of 
what you have expended,” said he, heartily — 

not groschen. But 1 never can thank you. 


I 12 


1 he Unsigned Will, 


And now tell me : Where is my niece ? Do 
you know anything of her whereabouts?” 

The doctor looked at him earnestly. 

* “ She is here,” he answered ; but you cannot 
see her so suddenly. I fear she is going to 
have a severe illness. She has been living in 
Italy for some time past as companion to the 
Countess of Hartenstein, and came back here 
with that lady about a month ago, and met 
for the first time her cousin. She became deeply 
attached to him, and he evidently returned her 
affection ; but suddenly — ” 

One moment,” interrupted his friend, angrily. 
“Jsit Oscar of whom you speak? The son of 
that woman with the heart of stone? He shall 
never see her again. 1 shall take Toni with me 
to Adelaide at once.” 

' The doctor shook his head. 

“Of that later/’ he said. “Now come with 
me. You can see for yourself ; her whole 
system seems fearfully shattered. Pray God all 
may 3 "et be well.” 

He led the way to a bright, prettily furnished 
bed-chamber, and when he reached the door, 
signed to his companion to wait until he was 
called. The old man saw through the drawn 
portiere a face that was the counterpart of his 
dead sister’s ; the same lovel}^ eyes and curling 
brown hair, with a vague resemblance in every 
feature to her mother. But now her illness ren- 


The Unsigned Will. 


1^3 


dered her countenance pale and restless ; and the 
doctor bent anxiously and lovingly over her. It 
grieved him deeply to see this poor, homeless 
child looking so helpless and ill, and he drew her 
gently to himself. 

Toni was so weak that her voice could scarcely 
reach his ear. He did not ask any unnecessary 
questions. He comforted her, and strove to 
quiet her, first of all, and insisted that she should 
remain in bed. 

You are obliged to do it, Toni ; you are very 
ill, my poor child.*' 

The unhappy girl shook her head. 

“ I cannot do it, dear doctor. Your comfort 
— your peace — ’* 

She had risen while speaking, starting forward 
as if forced to fly ; but with the effort she fell 
fainting in the arms of her old friend. 

A second later and Berning was also at the 
bedside. His eyes were blazing, and he clenched 
his fists angrily, as he muttered : 

“ And shall I give her to the villain who has 
caused all this trouble? No, never, as long as I 
live !” 

‘‘Silence!” said Arning, warningly. “We 
can at this moment count on nothing.” 

And the physician shuddered as he spoke. 

* * * * 

While Toni was lying in an unconscious con- 


The Unsig7ied WilL 


II4 


dition, anxiously watched day and night by her 
devoted uncle, Oscar was encountering many 
changes new to him. He was endeavoring to 
learn something in regard to the condition of 
his property, and was almost driven crazy by 
the multiplicity of cares which were crowded 
upon him. It was a most disheartening struggle 
into which he entered, understanding, as he did, 
absolutely nothing of its details. It made him 
fairly, groan — all this was not his business. 

He still visited the countess daily, but each 
morning resolved never to go again, but when 
evening came, his sense of isolation forced him 
again into the presence of that fascinating 
woman. The Countess Emilie, with her won- 
drous beaut}^ and boundless fortune, could with 
little difficulty have induced a much more 
cautious man than Oscar to do foolish things. 
There was no hour, however, in which Oscar 
would not have given all he owned, and resigned 
all for which he hoped, in order to stand for one 
moment alone with Toni, holding her hand in 
his, while he looked into the eyes which were to 
him the surety of all goodness and purity, and 
which the blight of death could never dim. 

Where could she be? He had heard nothing 
from her, and his uncle, too, had suddenly dis- 
appeared. Distrust and bitterness seemed to 
possess his soul more and more, and it was only 
in the charmed presence of the Countess of 


The Unsigned Will, 115 


Hartenstein that he ceased altogether to think. 
Nothing but the desire to wound the woman he 
loved had at first instigated him to pay such 
pronounced attention to the countess. 

But he became reckless, and had then gone on 
with more assurance, almost forgetting the 
accumulated business difficulties that encom- 
passed him. He was often made secretly anxious, 
however, by his mother’s many earnest inquiries 
in regard to the condition of affairs. During his 
minority, Frau Regina had put by interest upon 
interest, and now what had become in three 
short years of that great fortune ? 

The old lady often asked herself shudderingly 
whether she had been quite wise in training her 
son to understand so little the value of money, or 
to have such unlimited power over his posses- 1 
sions. As the complaints and murmurings grew 
louder, she ventured to ask Oscar about the 
condition of things, but he had answered after 
such a surly fashion, that she forebore making 
any further inquiries. These trifling money 
matters did not agitate him. His only anxiety 
was whether the countess would decide to go to 
Italy during the inclement winter weather ; she 
had spoken several times of doing so, and with- 
out doubt expected him to follow her. Oscar, 
however, hardly felt assured that his means 
would permit him to winter at Rome or Naples, 
nor did he consider it prudent to be long absent 


The U^tsigned WilL 


1 16 


from his estate just at present. No taint had 
attached to his name as yet, but he realized he 
must win the countess at any price. If he 
became the legal possessor of this beautiful 
woman and her great wealth, it would only need 
a fraction of her money to cover all his obliga- 
tions. 

What a fair vision! Uncounted treasure! 
Millions ! 

Oscar felt that he must bring matters to a 
crisis. 

Should he let the image of a poor, sad-eyed, 
brown -haired girl always stand in his way ? 

Should he be robbed of his all, and fall from 
the height to which he had attained, merely 
because of the memory of a silver-tongued siren 
who had bewitched him ? 

Absurd ! 

The lovely countess sat beside him on a low 
divan, the subdued, rosy light from the chande- 
liers played around them, and the diamonds on 
her fair hands glittered brightly. 

‘‘ In another week we will depart, will we not, 
my friend ? I say ‘ we,’ because if you are not 
by my side Italy will be without charm for me 
this year.” 

He took her hand in his and put his other arm 
around her waist, feeling rather doubtful as to 


The U7isigned Will, 1 1 7 


the manner in which his advances would be 
received, notwithstanding all his assurance. 

In a week whispered he, that is too soon 
— too soon at least, for my most heartfelt 
desire.’' 

“ You prefer remaining here ?” she asked, 
smiling. 

Just here, where my home is, and where 
you, whom I love so fondly, must become my 
wife. Will you not remain until the first snow 
falls, Emilie ?” 

The countess was as gracious and self-contained 
as ever ; her heart did not beat more quickly, 
neither did her cheek assume a warmer hue. 

She answered lightly : 

You have your opinion, dear friend. Hap- 
piness and peace are to be found everywhere, if 
only one understands how to obtain them.” 

‘‘We will remain until the first snow he 
asked, tenderly. 

“ When will it fall?” she said, laughingly. 

When Oscar bade her good-night her tender 
and caressing manner quite overpowered him. 
Yes, she assuredly loved him, and her playful, 
coy manner was but the result of the homage 
she had received, the constant triumphs she was 
always obtaining, for — she assuredly loved him. 
How tender were her whispers! How melting 
the glance from her sparkling blue eyes. All 


ii8 The Unsig7ied WilL 


his thoughts and feelings seemed to echo the 
same refrain : 

She loves me !*' 

When he reached home, earlier than was his 
wont, he found half a dozen dunning letters 
awaiting him. He opened the letters at random, 
and with little interest in their contents. The 
news of his engagement with the rich widow, 
would, he knew, silence all grumbling, and he 
would then be able to satisfy all demands upon 
his purse. 

But his interest was finally aroused by a few 
short sharp words. A note of five thousand 
thalers would fall due on the next day ; it had 
been sold by the original lender, and the man 
who demanded payment was — Dahlberg! 

His friend, his college chum, the man who 
knew all his financial difficulties, all his most 
private business affairs had at this critical time 
bought this note and now demanded his money ! 

As soon as Oscar could in some measure over- 
come the first natural feeling of alarm, he started 
immediately for the house of the advocate ; he felt 
that he could not wait until morning to face his 
enemy. 

Dahlberg received him very coldly. 

“ In what way can I serve you ?’' said he, as 
though greeting an entire stranger for the first 
time. 

Oscar had not come in order to plead. He in- 


The Unsigned IVilL 


T19 


tended to pay the money that was due, but he 
wished to call Dahlberg to account for his 
action. 

Dahlberg, why did you buy this note for 
five thousand thalers from Wolff & Messmann ?’' 
he asked. Are yo\x trying to ruin me.^’' 

Yes,'* answered the young advocate without 
hesitation. ‘'I will do all in my power to hasten 
your inevitable ruin, and shall leave no stone un- 
turned to assist the rightful owner of Schorndorf 
to obtain her rights." 

Oscar stared at him, not understanding what 
he said. 

“ ‘ The rightful owner ?’ " he repeated. 

Yes, your cousin, Fraulien Armfeld, with 
whose fortune, years ago, the property was 
bought by your excellent father. You have 
stolen it, you and he, each after his own fashion. 
Perhaps you. will deny that your cousin's sudden 
dismissal from the house of the countess, with 
whom she had always maintained pleasant rela- 
tions, the day following the one on which I had 
informed you she was your cousin, was not your 
doing? Your distrust and deceit have broken 
her heart. She lies at death’s door in the house 
of the good old physician. She has been de- 
serted by every one — is alone in the wide world, 
all through the treacher}" of your father and your- 
self. You two have been her executioners." 

Oscar had listened to this passionate speech 


120 


The Unsigned Will. 


without attempting to interrupt it. To hear 
that Toni was dying overwhelmed him, and his in- 
most soul was convulsed by the accusations 
made against him. 

When Dahlberg ceased speaking, Oscar felt 
that the terrible charge which had been made 
against his father could not be permitted to pass 
without reply. 

Explain to me more clearly what you mean 
regarding my father,” he said, coldly. ‘'You 
must understand that I cannot overlook such 
words as these.” 

“ Naturally, and I am fully prepared. See 
here! Do you recognize the hand -writing of 
your dead father?” He held an old and yellow 
letter under the lamplight, but as Oscar reached 
out his hand to take it, he drew it quickly back. 
“You can see that I have made an accurate 
statement, surely?” he said. 

“ I can see that it is m}^ father’s writing,” 
acknowledged Oscar. “ Give me the paper, that 
I may learn its contents.” 

Dahlberg stepped to the table. 

“ With your permission, 1 will read it,” he 
said, ironically. “This document is of unspeak- 
able value.” And then, after hastening through 
a short introduction, he read the following : 

“ ‘ I am sorry to have to write to you, my dear 
brother, that poor Henrietta has lost her hus- 


The Unsigned IVilL 


12 I 


band, and has been left, with her little daughter, 
without any means of support. Your generous 
gift of six thousands thalers I handed her imme- 
diately, and she will now be relieved from all 
pecuniary distress. You write that you know I 
will do as much as you have done for our dear 
sister. I have already done more than I could 
really afford, and my anxiety for our beautiful 
sister is at all times great. Henrietta tells me to 
thank you for her with a thousand tears and 
kisses. She is ill, and not able to write to you 
herself to-day.’' ’ 

Dahlberg looked up. 

The rest of this letter from you father to his 
brother in Australia is of no importance,” he 
said. Our concern is with the six thousand 
thalers which Karl Berning sent in all good faith 
to his brother for the use of their sister. Where 
is this money ? What became of it after reaching 
the person to whom it was addressed ? It has dis- 
appeared — been embezzled — stolen. Is it not so ?” 

And who will assert that my aunt did not re- 
ceive the money immediately ?” asked Oscaiv 

I !” cried the young advocate, with flashing 
eyes. The date on the stamp of this letter is 
just four days before the death of the unfortu- 
nate woman, and after her death there was not 
money enough to bury her, and a few of her old 
friends contributed the amount required to pay 


122 


The Unsigned WilL 


all funeral expenses. Would there not have 
been money enough to buy a coffin if she had 
received six thousand thalers four days before ? 
Hundreds of witnesses can testify that it was 
Rudolph Arning to whom she looked for aid in 
her last moments — not alone medical aid, but 
food, yes, even the very bed upon which she 
died was provided by him. Your father did not 
trouble himself about his dying sister ; he did not 
think it necessary even to buy her shroud or go 
to her funeral.'" 

Oscar stretched his arm out. He was pale 
and trembling with emotion. 

And were this all true," he said, ''no blame 
attaches to me I knew nothing of it until this 
very hour. Let Fraulcin Armfeld take what be- 
longs to her. I stand aside." 

Dahlberg crossed his arms over his breast. 

" And your own promise ; you magnanimous 
man — your own heartless conduct— how about 
that? As you possess so much courage, go and 
gaze upon your victim before you speak in such 
a haught}^ tone. It is your name which Toni, in 
her fever, whispers. It is your perfidy which 
she, in her delirium, exposes." 

Oscar turned to go. 

" You speak from jealously," he said, with a 
quiet he was far from feeling. " I understand 
that and will not in consequence demand the sat- 
isfaction which you, under like circumstances. 


The Unsigned Will. 123 


would have asked from me. Sue me for the 
note whenever you feel disposed. You strike 
your blow at the empty air, for I am from this 
hour no longer master of Schorndorf.’' 

He went from the advocate's house feeling he 
had been stricken to the death, and not knowing 
whither to turn for comfort or advice. He felt 
there was nothing to combat, nothing hidden ; it 
was all just as Dahlberg had said ; and, indeed, 
he always had had a secret misgiving that some- 
thing had been hidden from him by his parents, 
some mystery but now revealed. 

Alarming and agitating thoughts crowded 
through his mind. His father was dead ; all his 
earthly accounts were settled forever ! But his 
mother lived, and he could talk the whole matter 
over with her. Had she known of the pur- 
loined gold, and, in spite of all, driven the poor 
orphan out into the world ? His heart beat high 
with passion and anxiety as he hastily entered 
his mother's room. When she saw him she 
realized instantly that some catastrophe had 
occurred. 

''What has happened, Oscar?" she cried. 
" Tell me what is the matter ?" 

" Wait," he said, looking steadily at her, and 
speaking very earnestly. " Give me a clear and 
straightforward answer, mother. What became 
of the six thousand thalers sent years ago from 
Australia by my uncle for his sister ?" 


124 


The Unsigned Will, 


Had a flash of lightening struck her to the 
ground, Frau Berning’s terror could not have 
been greater than when this question was asked 
her. Her face lost all color, her hands grasped 
the air, and then sank nerveless to her side. 

'‘He lies, Oscar, he lies! Your father re- 
ceived nothing.’' 

“ But, mother, I know it ; I have seen the 
proof, not an hour since, in the hands of Dahl- 
berg. So tell me what became of the money ?” 

Frau Berning was now trembling violently. 
She wrung her hands. 

“ It is a lie — a lie! Will your uncle make any 
accusations ?” 

“ I do not know, mother ; and that is a matter 
of little moment to me. It is the thought of my 
father’s guilt that overpowers me. I will give 
Schorndorf, and everything belonging to it, to 
my cousin Toni, and indeed — ” 

A cry broke from his mother, and her e3^es 
seemed to start from their sockets. 

“You cannot do that, Oscar — not that! She 
shall never come in my house — the odious 
creature. As my son, you must stand by me at 
any price ; you, my own, only son, must not 
yield to the enemy. Where is the proof that 
we did not deliver the money to the sick woman? 
Perhaps it was stolen by the people who were 
with her ; perhaps she hads debts to pay with 
it, or squandered it ! Schorndorf is your inher- 


125 


The Unsigned Will, 


itance and shall remain yours as long as you 
live.” 

He stood before her, pale as death and trem- 
bling heavily. 

It is as I thought,” he said ; 'i you knew all ! 
It was your design to claim the property, and 
rob that poor, defenseless child — cast her out 
upon the world. Go, I know you not !” 

His mother threw herself wildly at his feet, 
clasping his knees frantically. 

'‘Mercy, Oscar, mercy ! — that man lies — oh, he 
lies !” 

But in her son’s heart, the indignation and ter- 
rible excitement under which he suffered, 
choked all forgiving or kindly impulses. He 
freed himself almost roughly from this woman 
who had borne him, without one conciliatory 
word, and hurriedly left the room. 

He shut himself up in his own chamber, and 
threw open a window, that he might feel the 
cool October air upon his brow. He had 
dreaded the thought of going to Italy until now. 
But he felt to-night that the sooner he started 
the better. He must get away from Schorndorf, 
miles and miles away, far beyond the sound of 
his native tongue. He would see the Countess 
Emilie and tell her everything, all the misery 
which had so suddenly overwhelmed him. He 
would pour out his heart to her, and thus meas- 
ure the true depth of her affection for him. 


[26 


The U nsigned J VilL 


Surely she loved him, and would not ask how 
much or how little of this world’s goods he pos- 
sessed. She would not hold him responsible for 
a sin his parents committed. 

No sleep visited him during that long night, 
and he rose at daybreak and stood at his win- 
dow musing sorrowfully over all his troubles. 
The old castle, with its surrounding meadow- 
lands, which he had so long considered his own, 
had so dearly loved — was, for the future, to be 
to him but a dream. 

Perhaps Toni’s wish would be fulfilled, 
and the wide stretch of marshy land would be 
transformed into fruitful fields, upon the now 
useless plain would be built the comfortable 
homes for the poor workmen. But would Toni 
recover? 

See your victim !” Dahlberg had said. Do 
you know she is at death’s door ?” 

Again he paced up and down. 

The sins of the father shall be visited upon 
the children, unto the third and fourth genera- 
tion !” — words fraught with terrible significance 
to him as he thought over the record that had 
just been disclosed to him. 

He seemed to see Toni’s great e^^es as she 
called him again and again in her fever — seemed 
to hear the piercing shriek : 

Oscar ! Oscar! Where are you ?” 

The perspiration stood in beads on his fore- 


The Unsigned WilL 


127 


head. Was he going insane? His mother 
knocked timidly at the door, pleading for 
admission : 

^^Open the door, my son ! I pray you, be 
merciful to me, and let me in 

Oscar could not overcome the feeling of 
bitterness with which he now regarded his 
mother, and turned hastily from the door, 
drowning the low, supplicating tones with his 
heavy footsteps. 

* * * * * * 

Later in the day, after a lew hours’ restless 
sleep, Oscar rose unrefreshed, and prepared to 
make a morning call upon the countess. 

How gracious would be her acquiescence 
when he should say : 

Let the carriage be ordered that we may 
ride to-day !” 

Upon the lower floor of the palace of the 
countess were gathered all the household 
servants, waltzing and shouting, while the porter 
was whistling gayly for them, whiled he danced 
by himself. The gayety stopped suddenly as 
Oscar ascended the steps, the servants retreat- 
ing hastily, while the porter answered the sum- 
mons, arranging his careless attire while he 
went. 


128 


The Unsigfied XVilL 


‘‘ Gracious, sir,” he stammered. “ I — that 
is — we — ” 

Oscar smiled. 

Is the countess at home ?” he asked, kindly. 

All the domestics now crowded forward. 

‘‘ Did not Herr Berning know that the countess 
had gone away on a journey ? Certainly it was 
rather sudden, but madam had been preparing, 
as Herr Berning knew.” 

Oscar hardly heard what they said. 

Gone away ?” he murmured half aloud. 

“ Yes, Herr Berning; and here is a note she 
left for you.” 

Oscar took the note, and when again alone, 
read it. 

‘‘ You are angry, my friend, and consider me 
faithless ! Come to Naples and learn to compre- 
hend some of the bright, cheerful aspects of life, 
and you will then do me justice. What we hope 
to obtain only appears to us really precious 
when our possession of it is delayed. Life is too 
short for animosity or regret. You vv^ill acknowl- 
edge that to me some day. Come to Naples. 
Farewell. Emilie.” 

Oscar laughed like one bereft of his senses, and 
went aimlessly on his homeward wa}". 



CHAPTER V. 

Toni lay for weeks at death’s door. In her 
delirium she betrayed to both men the fact that 
she knew the whole history of the unsigned will, 
and that she thought continually of her faithless 
lover. 

“ 1 could not tell him who I was,” she whis- 
pered, I could not do it, but Dahlberg told 
him, and now I must die !” 

Her uncle would clench his fist at these words, 
and mutter under his breath : 

“ He shall never see you again, never !” 

No one knew of Oscar’s whereabouts. 

Do you know whither he has gone, Rudolph ?” 
asked Berning, one day. 

The doctor shook his head. 

“ No one knows his present residence,” he 
responded ; the proceedings in bankruptcy open 
to-day. His poor old mother! Where will she 
live in future, I wonder?” 

Herr Berning did not answer, but the next 

[129I 


130 


The U7isigned Will. 


day his sister-in-law received through the post, 
from some unknown source, a sum sufficient to 
place her above all care for herself. But her 
boy was her terrible sorrow. Her time of trial 
had indeed come. Knowing nothing of Oscar, 
and not being able to ascertain anything con- 
cerning him, the poor woman went almost mad 
with the fancies which filled her brain. 

After weeks of terrible illness, Toni began to 
recover, but her feebleness and helplessness 
made careful attention more necessary than ever. 
They conversed with her as little as possible, 
answering the occasional questions which she 
asked about her sickness. Her uncle told her 
what he thought would interest her, in regard to 
his own life, but no mention in those early days 
of her convalescence was made of Oscar. 

One day Toni called him to her and asked, 
not about her quondam lover, but to his surprise, 
about the Countess of Hartenstein ; but when he 
told her the countess had gone to Italy; she fell 
into a long and deathlike swoon. After that, 
they kept a guard on their lips, and let nothing 
escape which could alarm her. 

But.one day, a short time after, she heard part 
of an animated conversation between her uncle 
and Herr Dahlberg, the young advocate. 

I will not do it her uncle said, energetically ; 

I will not have the name of my dead brother dis- 
honored. The grave is his protection, and 1 do 


The Unsigned Will. 


i3f 


not need the money. 1 will always have enough 
to satisfy me, and what I have my niece will 
have. She will be rich without the possession 
of Schorndorf. Mother and son are in deep 
distress, and I will not be the one to hunt them 
down. No, Dahlberg, I renounce every legal 
claim.’' 

After that, Toni could understand nothing 
more, as they lowered their voices. Mother 
and son are in deep distress,” her uncle had said. 
What could it all mean.^ If she were only able 
to make inquiries, only able to go away ! But 
she knew it was futile to ask her uncle or the 
doctor for any information. A few days later, 
the young advocate called to see her, and Toni, 
in spite of a secret antipathy for which she could 
hardly account, received him almost joyfully, 
for he knew all, and would not be reticent, she 
felt sure, in answering her queries. She knew 
him but slightly. He had been the attorney for 
the countess, and in his brief visits at the palace, 
had always seemed eager, she remembered, to 
pay her homage whenever opportunity offered. 
She was glad he had come ; she would question 
him. 

Dahlberg placed in her hand a bouquet of 
fresh violets, which filled the room with the 
delicate fragrance of spring ; while out of doors 
the snow still covered the earth with its wintry 
mantle. The two young people stood facing 


132 


The Unsigned Will, 


each other, each pale and earnest, conscious of 
the gulf which separated them, and of the 
decisive words which must now be spoken. 

Dahlberg spoke first. 

I am rejoiced, Fraulein Armfeld, that 1 am 
at last permitted to see you and to congratulate 
you upon your recovery.'* 

Toni begged him to be seated, while she 
returned to the sofa from wdiich she had risen 
when her visitor entered, still holding the violets 
in her trembling hand. To Herr Dahlberg her 
paleness and delicate appearance only enhanced 
her beauty, and his eyes told her without 
disguise what his heart would utter. 

Herr Dahlberg,” said she, pray put the 
violets in that glass yonder, and then tell me the 
news. Tell me all that has happened since I 
have been ill.” 

He divined her purpose, but related one thing 
after another, in order not to betray himself at 
once. Finally, he said : 

A mutual acquaintance of ours has dis- 
appeared — gone to ruin — and his true character 
has, perhaps, for the first time, been made known 
— Oscar Berning. Schorndorf has been sold 
under the hammer, and countless victims name 
him with imprecations.” 

Toni raised her head suddenly. 

‘‘Did you personally lose any money by his 


The Unsigned Will, 


133 


bankruptcy, Herr Dahlberg?’' she asked, im- 
petuously. 

He colored involuntarily as he thought of the 
purpose which had induced him to purchase 
Oscar’s note. 

“ And,” said Toni, looking him full in the face, 
was it not you that instituted the proceedings 
against him, Herr Dahlberg?” 

There were others with me, Fraulein Arm- 
feld. Oscar is a spendthrift, a man without — ” 

‘‘ He is my kinsman, Herr Dahlberg ; and, 
more than that, he is absent at this moment. 
Pray do not forget yourself.” 

There ensued a painful pause. Then the 
young man sought to take Toni’s hand. 

“ Fraulein Armfeld,” said he, are you aware 
of the fact that Herr Berning talks of taking you 
back with him to Australia ? Are you willing to 
leave your fatherland forever T' 

Toni started and her head sank wearily on her 
hand. 

I did not know it,” she said, shudderingly. 
“ He has told me nothing of our future plans.” 

‘Ht is, however, his fixed determination,” 
responded Dahlberg. He intends to take you, 
and very soon, too ; and for that very reason I 
came here to-day. You have no family, Toni. 
You are deserted and lonely. Will you venture 
to follow an old man, almost a stranger to you, 
across the ocean, to be left, in all probability, 


134 


The Unsigned WilL 


entirely alone in a few short years ? Your uncle 
is a good man, but an old one — over seventy — 
and his days upon earth are numbered. Toni, 
will you share my lot with me? Will you be 
my wife? I can offer you little, but I have a 
heart that beats for you alone, and I long to 
devote my life to your service. Will you con- 
sent ? I have enough to give you all you can 
desire, and you can relinquish all claim to your 
uncle’s property.” 

Toni had heard him quietly to the end, but he 
knew before she opened her lips that he had 
failed — that Toni Armfeld would never be his 
wife. 

Herr Dahlberg,” answered a soft voice, 

have you not betrayed the friend of your youth, 
in order to obtain what was his ? Is that true, 
or do I err ?” 

He looked at her anxiously. 

‘ What was his ?’ ” he responded, hardly 
grasping her full meaning. 

And is,” answered she, trembling and deadly 
pale, but steadily — '' and is, and to all eternity 
will remain his. You have bought Schorndorf, 
the home he loved, and are doubtless happy now 
in its possession, but — but let that suffice for 
you.” 

The silence for a minute or two was painful; 
then she heard again the voice of her would-be 


The Unsigned Will. 


135 


suitor murmuring a farewell ; the door was shut 
softly and she knew she was alone. 

She threw her arms above her with a gesture 
of despair. 

“ They have driven my dear love away from 
his home, defamed his character, deprived him 
of his all ; and even his own uncle has done 
nothing to save him. Unhappy man! Perhaps 
he has no friend who can assist him — knows no 
one to whom he can turn in his hour of need. 

She felt she could endure this feeling of 
wretchedness and ignorance no longer. Her 
heart was almost breaking as she conjured up 
the dangers by which her loved cousin might be 
surrounded. But she was now resolved to know, 
at whatever cost, all that was to be known. 

When her uncle came in that evening bring- 
ing her, as usual, books and dainties to tempt her 
palate, she asked him abruptly and without any 
preface : 

Uncle, where is my cousin Oscar now? I 
want to hear everything you can tell me about 
him. Where is he?’' 

The old man looked at her. She was deadly 
pale at this moment. A quick, daring answer 
came to him. 

You are sure you wish me to tell you, Toni ?” 
he asked. 

“ Yes, uncle.” 


136 


The Unsigned Will. 


'‘Very well. Oscar is at Naples with the 
countess/' 

She received the information very calmly, but 
her voice sounded hollow and lifeless when, after 
a moment, she said : 

" Uncle, I will go with you to Australia when 
you go." 

When speaking of this conversation later to 
the doctor, Herr Berning seemed hardly at ease 
in regard to his victory. 

" I had to do it, Arning," he said ; " it is better 
that she, even at the price of great anguish, 
should learn to forget this man. He would 
never have made her happy — doubtless never 
loved her at all." 

The doctor shook his head. 

" He has disappeared entirel}^" he said. "No 
one can find any trace of him." 

" So much the better," nodded the old man. 
" So much the better. I pray she may never see 
him again." 

Arning only smiled, but he did nothing to 
prevent his old friend carrying out his plans. 
He saw that Toni was legally adopted before 
they set sail, and even when the time of depart- 
ure arrived contented himself with saying 
quietly : 

" I shall see you both soon again." 

Herr Berning shook his head. 


The Unsigned Will. 


137 


Then you must come out to me, old friend,’' 
he said. 

Toni did not weep ; her heart was too full. 

It is to me like a funeral,” she whispered» 
“ and I am tire corpse. Farewell ! My heart is 
broken and 1 care not whither I go.” 

Karl,” said Doctor Arning, ‘‘ you hear her? 
Why will you not tell her you know absolutely 
nothing of her cousin ?” 

But the obstinate old man turned away. 

‘‘It is for her own good, Rudolph,’’ he said. 
“ I will take all the responsibility.” 

The doctor kissed the pale, cold lips of the 
young girl once more, mounted his horse and 
rode away. Half an hour later the ship sailed. 

One pale, worn-looking man watched from a dis- 
tance the ship set sail, and realized that the stake 
for which he had played was lost — Dahlberg, 
through whose treachery this had come to 
pass. 

***** 

Two years had passed away since Herr Bern- 
ing persuaded his niece to accompany him to 
Australia. 

At Rosehill, a beautiful country residence not 
far from Adelaide, on a warm June evening 
were gathered together all the farm hands and 
household servants at their evening meal. It 
was a motley assemblage, among which England, 


138 The Unsigned WilL 


Ireland and Germany were each represented. 
On this evening they were discussing with ani- 
mation their new master, who had just arrived, 
having only recently purchased Rosehill. His 
niece was to be their future mistress, and of her 
the coachman, more fortunate than his fellows, 
having caught a glimpse of her in Adelaide, now 
spoke. 

“ She is very beautiful,*' said he, charming, 
but not to my taste ; too pale and thin, a kind of 
a saint, you know, who will teach Sunday-school 
and visit all the old women." 

On this evening, as had been the case on many 
another, one of the servants was absent from the 
supper, and did not know that Rosehill had been 
sold and would be inspected on the morrow by 
its new owner. 

Under a cluster of low trees lay Bob, the 
shepherd, while not far distant the sheep, of 
which he had charge, roamed at will, and were 
watched by several large dogs. He was reading 
an old and dilapidated book, whose loose leaves 
were scattered around him, and for which he 
had but that morning paid his last dollar. It 
was Goethe’s ‘‘ Faust." 

Perhaps he knew it all, and every word of the 
sublime tragedy sank deep into his heart, but on 
he read, missing no word, no scene. He was a 
lonely, disappointed man, to whom no new 
owner of Rosehill could bring either hope or 


The Unsigned Will. 


139 


fear. He had lived his life long ago, and the 
dark, glistening eyes told a story of misery and 
endurance. A large black dog came up to him 
at last, rubbing his nose in his hand, and Bob 
threw aside his book in order to caress his only 
friend. 


* * * * * 

The new master had come at last. 

It is the rich Herr Berning,” whispered the 
people. No one will starve under him.’' 

Herr Berning took his niece through the 
house, courts, stables and grounds, to show her 
the new possessions of which she was mistress. 

Does it please you, my love ?” he whispered. 

She smiled in the still, cold fashion that had 
seemed a part of herself since their departure 
from Europe, as she thanked him for his good- 
ness; but, in spite of all, tears were glistening in 
her eyes, and he felt that her heart was not here 
and she was but nursing her sorrow. 

‘‘Uncle,” she said, abruptly, “do you ever 
think of poor Aunt Regina, in all her misery?” 

The old man answered, hastily : 

“ Oh, child, she was provided for long ago.” 

Toni put her hand over her eyes. 

“ Come,” she said, gently, “ come, we must not 
speak of Germany, it makes my heart too heavy. 
Now you must show me the village ! ” 

He heard the misery in her voice, and saw the 


140 


The Unsighted Will. 


sorrow in her heart, which neither time nor change 
of scene had effaced, and the old man heaved a 
deep sigh. This was the third place which he 
had bought in the past two years, hoping that 
change of scene would benefit Toni. 

He made no reply but showed her the 
miserable village with its wretched huts, and 
distributed some money among the villagers and 
farm hands. Bob, the shepherd, was not one of 
the number. 

He is a German, and very eccentric,'’ said 
the steward, and never cares for the company 
of the other lads, but an honest fellow withal ; 
I will answer for him." 

Berning laughingly said he would look after 
his countryman himself. 

He rejoiced that his riches would enable him 
to alleviate to some extent, at least, the misery of 
the settlers, and felt that Toni would have some- 
thing in which she could become interested. 

Is it not true," he said, pointing to the miser- 
able hovels lying a short distance below them, 
that the distress in these colonies is frightful ?" 

Toni shuddered. 

Uncle," she said, in a low voice, one is 
forced to think it is wrong to indulge in personal 
grief or sorrow with so much suffering near us. 
We will enjoy our wealth by improving the 
condition of these poor people. We will help 


7 he Unsigned Will, 


141 


them to build a school, and I will teach in it my- 
self.’^ 

‘‘ God be praised !” thought the old man. 

With something to occupy her mind she will 
certainly forget Oscar.” 

Aloud he gave her permission to do what she 
would in a most hearty manner. 

Now,” he said, we will go to see the 
sheep.'* 

About a mile distant lay the sheep folds where 
the animals herded by the thousand during the 
night, and near by were the primitive huts of the 
shepherd lads who kept watch and ward. 

Adjoining were the purple meadows, where 
the white rafflesia nodded its stately head, and 
in the distance the sheep were grazing. 

The horses went on at a leisurely pace, while 
Toni and her uncle enjoyed the beautiful view, 
enhanced, as it was, by the perfect summer sky 
overhead. 

As they passed by the shepherds* huts, Berning 
bethought himself of the herdsman whom he had 
not yet seen. 

Hello !** he shouted out. Shepherd, where 
are you ?” 

There arose suddenly from the thicket just in 
front of the horse which Toni rode the figure of a 
man in the customary shepherd’s garb, with 
dark hair, covered by a broad straw hat. 

It was a face deathly pale, with deep-set eyes. 


142 


The Unsigned WilL 


that looked into Toni’s for a moment as, without 
any foreboding, she gazed at the man who 
seemed to her an apparition. 

From the maiden’s lips came a piercing cry, 
and she convulsively pulled the horse’s bridle, 
and in a second both horse and rider were off 
across the fields at a mad pace. Herr Berning 
did not understand what had happened, but was 
after his niece like a shot, and after a mile’s race 
his thoroughbred was beside the brown horse, 
and both were drawn up by the roadside, 
trembling and covered with sweat. 

What was the matter with the horse !” asked 
Berning, who knew his niece was an accom- 
plished horsewoman. 

Are you — ” 

‘‘But, Toni,” he interrupted, “you are faint- 
ing ! My pet, what has happened to you ?” 

He supported the swaying girl, and saw with 
alarm that she was pale as death and was breath- 
ing spasmodically. 

“ Child,” cried he, “ my love, what is it ?” 

She pointed toward the sheepfolds and uttered 
the one word “ Oscar !” 

“Who?” cried Berning. “What do you 
say ?” 

Toni began weeping violently. 

“ Oscar ! — I saw him. He is the German 
herdsman !” 


The Unsigned Will. 


143 


' Oh — Impossible ! A thousand times impos- 
sible !” 

The old man scarcely knew whether this 
startling news brought him joy or sorrow. His 
nephew here — in this extraordinary position ! 
He could hardly bring hfmself to believe it was 
true. 

Come/’ he said ; we will see.” 

Her pale face flushed excitedly. 

You go alone, uncle, and leave me here.” 

He understood her and raised no objection, 
pressed her hand warmly and then jumped into 
the saddle as actively as a man of thirty. 

If it is he, 1 will not disown the son of my 
only brother,” thought he. 

Toni remained alone. The horse ate the grass 
at her feet, and the soft, mild summer air cooled 
the brow of the nervous, overwrought girl. 
How clearly came before her every detail of 
that moment ; she seemed to see his eyes still 
lookingjinto hers, while the heavy, unkempt beard, 
which covered the pale face, only marked the 
more clearly to her the discouragement and 
utter hopelessness of the inner man. 

How sharp was the contrast. 

At their last meeting he had stood before her 
in the boudoir of the Countess of Hartenstein, 
surrounded by all the luxuries that money could 
buy, and everything about himself was in keep- 
ing with all his surroundings — and now — an 


144 


The U^isigned WilL 


under-servant of her uncle, a herdsman among 
strangers in the far Australian bush. 

She trembled for him as she wondered what 
effect such a change would have upon one of so 
proud a disposition — she prayed that all* would 
be righted for him. 

In about an hour her uncle returned, and she 
knew before he spoke, that he had discovered 
nothing ; she leaned for support against a tree, 
feeling instinctively that she had still much to 
bear. 

It was a vision, Toni," he said, earnestly, “ an 
apparition, God knows what, only no reality. 
The hut is empty; I have searched every bush, 
every pen, and not found a living creature." 

Not — not the shepherd ?" 

Her eyes glowed strangely, and her voice had 
a shrill, unnatural sound that made the old man 
heart-sick. 

saw no one, Toni; believe me, it was a 
vision ; perhaps Oscar has just died." 

She shook her head. 

No, he lives, he is here. I have seen him as I 
see you, uncle. Will you do nothing to discover 
him ?" 

Everything," answered her uncle, dispirited- 
ly, “ everything, my dear child ; let us turn back ; 
the overseer shall bring every man about the 
place to me. If you really saw a living man, he 


The Unsigned Will. 


H5 


must be reached in some way, and brought be- 
fore you again/’ 

The horses’ heads were turned, and they rode 
back rapidl}^ and Herr Berning gave the over- 
seer orders to find the shepherd immediately; two 
or three long, anxious hours went by, which 
seemed to Toni an eternity, and then the men 
returned with the word that Bob, the shepherd, 
had disappeared, and could not be found. 

Even the dogs,” said the overseer, could 
not find him ; his few belongings remained in 
the hut, also the book which he read so much, 
but he himself was gone.” 

The uncle and niece looked at one another. 
The herdsman’s sudden disappearance was a 
confirmation of Toni’s statement. But where 
should they look for him ? 

Do 3'Ou know anything about this man, Mr. 
Tompkins?” asked Herr Berning; what is his 
name, and what was his business or trade origin- 
ally?” 

''That, sir, was what was so surprising; he 
was a gentleman, a scholar; he came to Port Ade- 
laide about two 3"ears ago and tried to get some 
clerical position, but failed, and when I met him 
he was in sore distress ; so I brought him out 
here on the farm, where he has since tended 
the sheep and lived in a hut by himself. He 
calls himself Robert Schorndorf,” 


146 


The Unsigned Will. 


Until now Toni had listened silently, but at 
the name of Schorndorf '' she gave a loud cry. 

Tompkins/' said the old man, his voice 
trembling while he spoke, I have reason to be- 
lieve that this man of whom you speak is a re- 
lation of mine. Where can he have gone that 
we cannot find him ?" 

The overseer answered, thoughtfully : 

‘‘ He cannot have gone into the bush, for yon- 
der there are for miles -and miles neither house 
nor field nor tree. He must have started on foot 
for Port Adelaide, otherwise he would be in dan- 
ger of starving. 

Berning arose. 

‘‘ That is enough," he said, energetically. 
‘‘You are right, Tompkins. I will want my 
horse this minute, to go in search of him." 

Toni sprang toward him. She seemed to for- 
get the presence of the overseer. Her only 
thought was for Oscar. 

* “Uncle," she begged, “let me go with you. 
Do not go on horseback, but take the light 
wagon. Something may have happened to him, 
and I must see him, and look upon his face 
again." 

The old man kissed her. 

“Do you, then, love him so dearly?" he said, 
sadly. 

There had never been any talk between the 
two about her cousin ; no questions had ever 


The Unsigned WilL 


147 


been asked. Now, however, she answered, 
unhesitatingly : 

Very dearly, uncle ; very dearly. O ! Take 
me with you !” 

He ordered the light wagon, and when it 
came, placed her silently in it, and they started 
off in the clear morning sunlight, their horses 
fairly flying along the road. No word was 
spoken, but both hearts were full to over- 
flowing.' 

All travelers along the road were hailed, and 
inquiries made as the fugitive, but no one could 
give them any information. They scoured the 
country round, and toward the eve of the second 
day, with spent horses and sad hearts, they 
waited in a roadside hut until the morning light 
should enable them to continue their search. 

At daybreak the old man and his nearly 
exhausted niece were on their way again. They 
had started but a few minutevS, when Herr Bern- 
ing’s eye lighted, and he exclaimed: 

“ See ! Here are gold-seekers coming — a 
whole caravan — on their way to the mines. God 
is good. We may find him before night.” 

He had an idea that among these people his 
nephew might have taken refuge. 

Keep up your courage, my love !” he cried. 

We will find him !” 

His niece’s eyes, with their wild expression, 
made him shudder. He realized for the first 


148 


The Unsigned WilL 


time that if Oscar was not found, she, too, would 
be lost. After an hour's time, they came up to 
the halting-place of the band, where the camp- 
fire seemed to give them friendly greeting. 
Some children were dancing and singing an old 
German song. Herr Berning leaned over 
Toni as she lay back on the cushions, too weak 
from excitement to sit up. 

‘‘Come, dear," he said. “We will go and 
find him." 

“ I cannot, uncle. Go alone, I beg." 

He kissed her, and started on his search with 
heavy heart, but to all his queries he received 
only disheartening replies. He went from one 
group to another, but no one had seen the Ger- 
man. He felt he dared not return to the wagon 
alone, for it would kill Toni. He remained for 
a few minutes beside a group of men whom he 
had been interrogating, and who were whisper- 
ing to one another. 

“ You must surely have met the man whom I 
seek," he said. “ It is not possible for you, who 
have just come from Adelaide, to have missed 
him. I will give a thousand dollars to the man 
who can tell me where to find him." 

The offer acted as an electric shock. Berning 
saw at a glance that the men had been lying to 
him. 

“ I will tell you !" cried the first man. 


The U7isigned WilL 


149 


'' One half for me, or there will be trouble !’* 
said the second. 

Berning controlled his rising anger. 

There are three of you/' he said, coldly. I 
will give you each five hundred dollars. Now 
tell me what you have to tell." 

The first speaker started forward. 

I will lead you," he said, ‘‘ and my com- 
panions will accompany me, that you may give 
us the gold together, otherwise your life will be 
of no more account to us than this butterfly's, 
which I crush under my foot. In this wilderness 
there is only one law — the law of the strongest— 
and that is why we poor devils, ourselves almost 
starving, could not take your man any farther 
with us. He lies over there." 

Herr Berning could hardly gasp : 

Is he dead ?" 

Oh, no, only exhausted ; but we had no place 
for him in my caravan. Come with us now ; it 
is not very far." 

The four men walked nearly a mile before 
they came to the summit of a little hill, where 
there was much high grass and many wild flowers 
were in blpom. The gold finders pointed down 
a narrow footpath. 

There is where he lies." 

Berning went on with light but rapid steps, 
until he came upon a manly form stretched face 
upward upon the grass ; the eyes were closed 


The Unsigned Will, 


150 


and he lay as one asleep, or, perhaps, dead. 
Berning could scarcely recognize in this man 
the handsome and vigorous youth he had seen 
so few short years before. Blood of his blood — 
his only brother’s son. 

Oscar,” he said, with difficulty restraining 
his emotions, my poor, dear boy.” 

The unfortunate man opened his eyes and 
made an effort to rise, as though he would 
escape, but sank back exhausted. 

Let me die here, uncle,” he whispered. I 
know it is unworthy of me to seek death, but I 
so long for peace ; I have nothing for which to 
live.” 

Nonsense, my dear boy ! Nonsense !” said 
his uncle, taking hold of him. Your cousin is 
waiting ; come quickly !” 

That I may become a shepherd again ? 
Better to die here.” 

Berning handed him some wine. 

How did you come here anyway, Oscar?” 

The eyes of the young man filled with hot 
tears. 

‘‘ How came I here, uncle ? I will tell you : 
because 1 was of no use either to myself or any 
one else, because — ” 

His voice broke, and he sank fainting back 
upon the grass. The gold-seekers carried the 
almost lifeless body back to the wagon which 
Berning had already hastened to summon. His 


The Unsigned Will, 


151 


loud call had been heard in the distance, and, as 
they came toward the wagon, Toni sprang from 
it and came toward them with outstretched arms. 

He lives, dear girl, he lives ! He has only 
swooned !” 

And Toni flew to him breathless, almost 
crazed. 

Oscar !’' she gasped. Oscar ! Where is 
he r 

* •* * * * 

It was easier to catch the fugitive than to 
bind him. As soon as Oscar had recovered 
himself he wanted to be away again, and his 
uncle’s earnest prayers were all that could 
induce him to remain. 

He was persuaded finally to become the 
teacher of the school just starting in the village, 
but nothing could induce him to live at Rose- 
hill. His uncle let him have his own way. 

Oscar and Toni were apparently but chance 
acquaintances ; their former intimate relations 
were not alluded to in any way, and they 
avoided one another whenever it was possible. 
But in the village they were naturally thrown 
much together in their school duties. 

There Uncle Karl laughed secretly at this 
mutual avoidance — once he asked his nephew 
how long he should remain in Australia. 

I leave the country on the next ship and do 


^52 


T he U nsigned Will. 


not care whither I go, so that I do not return to 
Germany.’* 

Toni thought: “ He does not speak the truth ; 
he is only anxious to go wherever the countess 
awaits him.” 

She resolved to make an opportunity as soon 
as possible to question him in regard to his rela- 
tions with the countess. She soon had a chance 
to interrupt him with the question : 

'‘That occurred while you were living in 
Naples, did it not, Oscar?” 

" No,” he answered, " I have never been in 
Naples.” 

" Ah ! and yet I heard from several that you 
were with the Countess Emilie.” 

" No,” said Oscar. " Whoever believed that I 
was an admirer of the countess, and followed 
her to Italy, did not know me. I was once on 
the point, from very despair, of offering myself 
to her, but the countess saved me from this false 
step by her departure to Italy. I have never 
seen her since.” 

Toni remained silent but the words, "from 
very despair,” were an admission that sounded 
very sweet to her ears. After that she treasured 
every glance and every word. Oscar carried in 
his heart no other image ; he was quite free ; 
she trembled at the thought, and the color came 
and went in her lovely face whenever she heard 


The Unsigned Will, 


153 


his footstep. Yet, fearful of betraying herself, 
she still sought to avoid him. 

Oscar understood nothing of all this. But he 
imagined that she avoided him thus openly in 
order to warn him against any new advances. 
All his old distrust came back more strongly 
than ever ; he devoted himself more and more 
to his work among the villagers, and came less 
frequently to the house on the hill. The winter 
finally came to an end, and the spring rushed in 
with the breath ^f her sunshine, and the fra- 
grance of her flowers. 

One morning Herr Berning sat at an open 
window, writing a letter to Germany to his old 
friend Arning : 

'' I believe that you were right, Rudolph, and 
that you will see us back again in the fatherland. 
You know you exhorted me to leave all 
things to God’s decision. Well, old friend. He 
has not forsaken us. I brought my niece here, 
almost by force, from the other end of the world, 
in order that she might forever avoid meeting 
my brother’s son — and we find him here in our 
midst. While I write you, I see them walking 
in the garden, but only chatting as cousins, how- 
ever. Yet I feel that the day is near at hand 
when they will become lovers.” 

And yet the old man’s prophecy was "far from 
fulfillment in Oscar’s mind. 


154 


The Unsigned Will, 


One day he came to Toni and begged for a 
word with her alone. 

‘‘Toni/' he said, earnestly, “I have come to 
sa}^ good-by to you. I will not speak to my 
uncle, he would strive to make me alter my 
plans, and my determination is fixed. I go, 
Toni, because I am forced by circumstances. 
Will you say farewell to the old man for me?’' 

“ And do you never intend to come back here, 
Oscar?" asked Toni, quietly. 

“ Never ! Never, so long I live !" 

“ And — and may I ask what is driving 3 ^ou 
away ?" 

“ Ah " he answered, unwillingly^ “ one word 
that I cannot say — My hands are empty, my 
life is a failure — I — have no place close to the 
millions of my uncle. Farewell, Toni, and God 
guard you !" 

“ One moment," she whispered, pale and trem- 
bling, “that word, Oscar, which you cannot 
speak, shall I say it for you ?" 

He looked at her. 

“ You ? — You ?" 

Yes, I," she whispered — “ I, Oscar; shall I 
tell uncle that he can leave his fortune to whom 
he will, but not to me? Shall I tell him I wish 
to marry a poor teacher and share with him his 
cares and troubles for all time? Oscar, may I 
tell him that 1 am too rich to need his millions ? ' 

He had her in his arms and was pressing her 


The Unsigned Will, 


155 


madly to his breast, almost before she had fin- 
ished speaking. 

‘‘Toni, forgive me, I beg,'’ he said, “for all 
my unfeeling words, and my continued mis- 
judgment of you. How I have allowed myself 
to be deceived !” 

She could not speak for tears, but her caresses 
answered him. 

***** 

Another year had flown by. In a pretty 
house in a street not far from Schorndorf sat two 
old people talking earnestly. They had been 
strangers for years, and a feeling of bitter hatred 
had grown up between them. Poor old Frau 
Regina and her brother-in-law had viewed life 
through different glasses. 

Herr Berning had lived here since his niece’s 
marriage. He had bought back Schorndorf, and 
given it to Toni as her marriage portion, and had 
left the young peo.ple alone. 

Oscar was busy from morning to night, 
either superintending the clearing of the waste 
land or in the meadows above, but always in_ 
dustrious, and looking well after the interests 
and welfare of the tenants. 

Uncle Karl visited them almost daily, but he 
thought it better so have his own home. 

He was greatly surprised at the unexpected 
visit of his brother’s widow on this pleasant 
morning. He was startled, too, at her appear- 


The Unsigned Will. 


156 


ance — a pale white-haired, broken-down old 
woman, instead of the stately dame he remem- 
bered. She was so feeble that he went forward 
and led her to a seat. 

She came, she said, to beg him to do some- 
thing to soften her son’s anger against her. 

‘‘Will you not give me back my only son?” 
she pleaded, piteously. “ Will you not be merci- 
ful to me ?” 

He pressed her cold, nerveless hand. 

“ I will, indeed ! 1 will, indeed, so help me 

God !” 

“Then listen to me.” 

It was impossible for him to stop her as she 
began her sad tale. 

“ I had a lover in my youth,” said Oscar’s 
mother, “ to whom I was affianced — one whom I 
had known from my childhood, and whom I 
loved with all the passion and tenderness of 
which I was capable. We expected to be 
married soon when I took the position of govern- 
ess in your brother’s house, in order to assist 
your sister Henrietta in the completion of her 
education. My dowry was ready. Penny by 
penny, piece by piece, I had saved enough not 
to go to my lover empty-handed. He had just 
received an appointment as a teacher in the city 
schools, and I thought I was the happiest crea- 
ture living, when — 

“ But I cannot go into details calmly even 


The U^isigned WilL 


157 


now. My whole life was changed in a day. 
Karl, your sister robbed me of my lover. Her 
beauty made him forget both duty and honor. 
He married her, and 1 was left in despair. What 
I suffered no words can tell. 

It was with a vengeful and reckless feeling 
that I accepted your brother, Andreas, some 
months later, but I did not deceive him. I told 
him of my former lover, but he said he loved me 
and that I would in time love him in return. 
But it was a wretched marriage, and even the 
birth of our son brought us no happiness. Our 
money was gone, and we were in a wretched con- 
dition when the money came from you for your 
sister. It was I who silenced your brother's con- 
science, and stole the gold. It was I who 
robbed your dying sister ; for two days later she 
was laid in her grave. I told myself that it 
would have done her little good anyway. I had 
no feeling of remorse. I hated her, even in her 
grave. Then Andreas brought the little child 
home, in spite of all I could say. I tried prayers 
and threats, but your brother was resolved and 
they were of no avail. There sat at my table 
daily the child who was the image of her who 
had robbed me my life's happiness. I lost all 
the peace which otherwise I might have had, 
even though our marriage was loveless. My 
son Oscar was sent away to a distant school and 
was brought up, partially at least, among 


158 


The Unsigned Will, 


strangers, while this hated child was always in 
our midst. Was it any wonder that I cast her 
off when your brother died? Was it any 
wonder I did not divide the inheritance, but 
gave all to Oscar ? I was determined he should 
be happy, and get all the good things of life that 
it was possible to obtain. I had bought them 
dearly, and Oscar should have the benefit. 

The road I took led not to happiness or 
prosperity. God has humiliated me, and broken 
my pride in these lonely years. When Oscar 
left me, without a word of explanation or farewell, 
I was, indeed, bereft; 

Rudolph Arning, that true, good man, came 
to me later and bade me hope, for Oscar was 
with you, but my pride has thus far prevented 
me seeking him, and striving to make peace. 
Now I feel that I can endure it no longer ; and, 
unless I can be near my boy again, I shall die of 
grief. Will you tell them both all I have just 
told you? Say I wish them to know it. Will 
you be so kind to a poor sinner, who has no 
other hope in the whole world ?” 

The old man quieted her with kind, gentle 
words, and gave her an assurance, as they 
separated that still Sabbath morning that all 
would yet be well. How much easier, he 
thought, to fall into temptation than to extricate 
ourselves from the weight of woe that follows 
in the wake of wrongdoing. 


The Unsigned Will, 


159 


Uncle Karl spoke no word to Oscar of his 
mother. There were other ways to influence his 
nephew preferable to any persuasion of his. He 
told Toni about the visit, and she went imme- 
diately to her aunt and welcomed her as her 
husband’s mother. But no word was said to 
Oscar until his child was born. When he 
entered the room to see his first-born, he found 
his mother by Toni’s bed with her grandchild in 
her arms. 

Frau Regina was trembling violently, and an 
ashy paleness overspread her countenance as her 
eyes met her son’s stern glance. 

Oscar,” whispered Toni, faintly, laying her 
hand on his mother’s arm, this is your mother. 
Be good to her, dearest.” 

And Doctor Arning came forward smiling. 

Oscar, now that you are a father, you can- 
not harbor an unkind thought against your old 
mother ?” 

No, no ; he could not. His arms enfolded the 
two, his weeping mother and his little son, the 
angel of peace whose little hands had brought 
to them the olive branch. All was well now. 

***** 

Dahlberg had left Germany before Oscar and 
his wife returned from Australia, and was never 
heard of again. 

During the following summer, the Countess of 


i6o 


The Unsig7ied Will, 


Hartenstein returned to Schlossberg. She called 
very soon at Schorndorf, in order, as she coolly 
said, to renew her acquaintance with her former 
companion. Her real object was to try to bring 
Oscar once more within reach of her fascinations. 
She did not attempt to hide her desire to make 
Toni jealous. Her feeling of bitterness toward the 
man who had not thought it worth while to 
follow her to Italy was intense ; and she resolved 
to make the young wife suffer. 

And, in the first moment, Toni trembled for 
fear her new-found happiness should be stolen 
from her, but only in the first moment. 

Rest quietly, my love,” Oscar whispered, 
seeing the troubled look in her eyes. She will 
not come again, for I, in a few polite words, 
have forbidden her my house.” 

‘‘You, Oscar?” she asked, in a surprised tone. 
“You?” 

“ Yes, sweetheart. That women could never 
lead me astray with her folly ; but there is no 
need to renew our acquaintance with one whose 
nature is so unfeeling and untrue.” 

Toni laid her head upon his breast. The last 
shadow had been banished forever from her 
heart. 


THE END. 


THE TWO HUSBANDS: 

OR, 

BURIED SECRETS. 

BY 

MRS. HARRIET LEWIS. 

Author of Her Double Lifef Lady Kildare f Edda's 
Birthright f Beryl's Husbafidf etc, 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. A. CARTER. 


12mo. 402 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This is one of the most interesting of Mrs. Lewis’s novels. It 
opens with the quest for an heiress. Some of the chapter-headings 
are full of suggestiveness, as, for instance: “The Night Before 
the Wedding,” “Husband and Wife,” “Affairs Take a Strange 
Turn,” “A Conflict,” “ Now for Revenge,” “ Explanations,” etc. 
There is a plot and strong situations, and abundance of incident 
and movement in the story. Mrs. Lewis never failed to write a 
novel that would hold the reader from the first to the last chapter 
and satisfy the desire for agreeable excitement. To all who have 
read and admired “Her Double Life” we recommend “The 
Two Husbands.” 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


LOVE IS LORD OF ALL; 

OR, 

NEIGHBORING STEPPES. 

a Noocl. 


ADAPTED FROM THE GERMAN 

BY MARY J. SAFFORD, 

Translatof of Wife and Woman f ''Little Heather-Blossom f 
“ True Daughter of Hartensteinf etc,^ etc. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. A. CARTER. 


12mo. 350 Pagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


The second title of this story, Neighboring Steppes,” indi- 
cates the scene of the story, which is adjoining estates on the 
great plains of Poland. The heir of a ruined and dissipated 
nobleman falls in love with the daughter of a rich Jew who has 
bought one of the estates of the family. The beautiful character 
of the Jewess and the heroism of the young baron are in refresh- 
ing contrast to the narrow pride and contemptible conduct of 
those who endeavor to break off their intimacy. It is a surpass- 
ingly interesting sketch of foreign life made familiar by the action 
of human passions which are the same the world over. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

COR. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


BERYL’S HUSBAND 


BT 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 


Author of Lady Kildare'^ Sundered Hearts Hef 
Double Life^'* etc. 


WITH NUMEMOUa rVLUPABM ILLUSTRATIONS BT O. A. TRAVEH 


Paper Coyer, 60 cents. Bound in Cloth, $1.00. 


A very charming story. It opens on the shores of Lake Leman, 
in the romantic city of Geneva, under the shadow of Mont Blanc. 
A young English girl, who has been educated at a boarding- 
school at Vevay, is suddenly left without natural guardians and 
means of support. Her beauty and interesting character attract 
a young English traveller, who induces her to run away with him 
and marry him. This is the beginning of a romantic novel of 
extraordinary vicissitudes and adventures. To give an analysis 
of the plot and situations would mar the interest of the reader. 
It is sufficient to say that it is equal to the best of Mrs. Lewis’s 
novels, not excepting Her Double Life*^ and ^‘Lady Kildare.” 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
•n receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

COR. William and Spruce Streets, New York, 


THE CARLETONS 


BY 

Robert Grant, 

Author of Mrs, Harold Staggf “ Confessions of a Frivolous 

Girlf etc, 

ILLUSTRATED BY WILSON DE MEZA, 

12mo. 309 Fagres. Illustrated. Handsomely Bound in Cloth, 

Price, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


In The Carletons ” Mr. Grant has given his admirers a fresh 
and delightful novel. It is a New England story and the char- 
acters are truthfully drawn. Boston is the scene of the principal 
transactions, although the story opens in a neighboring suburban 
town. The charm of the story is in the humorous delineation of 
New England family life. The children are interesting, and 
when they grow up into men and women, as they do in the 
progress of the story, they are more interesting and charming, 
and the reader takes a deep and abiding interest in their history 
to the close. Mr. Grant’s amusing and refreshing humor lights 
up every page of the book. 

F or sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Gor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


EDITH TREVOR’S SECRET 


BY 


MRS. HARRIET LEWIS, 

Author of Her Double Lifef Lady Kildare f BeryLs 
Husbandf “ The Two Husbands f Sundered 

Hearts f Eddals Birthright^ etc,, etc. 


WITK ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAT IS. 


12mo. 370 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


‘‘Edith Trevor’s Secret” is a romantic love story, the scene of 
which is laid in the Black Forest of Germany, and in the rich and 
aristocratic circles of London society. The heroine is an exquisite 
girl, who has been brought up in the shadow of the mountains, 
where she is discovered by a young English nobleman. When 
they have become betrothed, the jealousy and ambition of others 
interpose to prevent the marriage, and a rapid succession of inci- 
dents and situations of surpassing interest follow. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


CECIL ROSSE 


A SEQUEL TO 

EDITH TREVOR’S SECRET. 


BY 

MRS. HARRIET LEWIS, 

Author of Her Double Lifef Lady Kildare f Beryl's 

Husband f The Two Husbands f Sundered 

Hearts f Edda's Birthright f etc. ^ etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


12mo. 370 Pag-es. Handsomely Boimd in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“ Cecil Rosse " is a continuation and conclusion of the extra- 
ordinary story of ‘‘ Edith Trevor’s Secret.” It displays a wonder- 
ful complication of circumstances involving people of highest and 
lowest degree. It shows how much can be accomplished by the 
unstinted use of money, and how helpless innocent girlhood is in 
the face of diabolical ingenuity with money at command. The 
great interest of this story centers in the charming heroine and 
her high-minded lover. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 



THE ALCHEMIST. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 

HONORE DE BALZAC. 

With Illustrations by F. A. Carter. Eleg-antly Bound in Cloth. 
Price, $1.00. 


In this work Balzac portrayed with a masterly hand the passion- 
ate exaltation of the search after truth, the absorption of all other 
faculties in one master-passion, and the pitiless egotism of genius. 
It is a family picture which, for truth, delicacy and pathos, has 
been surpassed by no novelist of any nation or any time ; a liter- 
ary achievement in which a new and imperishable character — the 
exquisite, beautiful character of the wife — has been added to the 
great gallery of fiction. 


THE CHAUTAUQUANS 


BY 

JOHN HABBERTON, 

Author of ‘‘ H elect's Babies f etc. 


WITH ILLUSTBATJ0N8 BY WABBEN B. DAVJ8. 


12mo. 351 Pagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


All interested in the famous Chautauquan reading-circles will 
welcome this novel. All who have been to Chautauqua will rec- 
ognize the perfect truth of the descriptions. The novel is an 
encyclopedia of information about getting up a Chautauqua 
circle. It tells in an amusing way the effect of starting a move- 
ment in a country village, and the enthusiasm which it arouses 
among young and old when once the organization gets into 
working order. Mr. Habberton is a veteran story-teller, and his 
new story is full of interest. There are in it many humorous and 
pathetic situations. The rich variety of characters in a typical 
American village affords the author a great opportunity for intro- 
ducing interesting portraits and sketches. Altogether the book 
is one of the most notable literary achievements which the Chau- 
tauqua movement has brought forth. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New Y)rk. 


THE HIDDEN HAND. 

By MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH, 

Author of “TJukiiown,” “Self-Made,” “Winning: Her Way,” “Only 
a G-irl’s Heart,” “A Deed Without a Name,” etc., etc. 

Paper Coyer, 50 Cents. Pound Tolume, ^1.00. 



“ The Hidden Hand ; or, 
Capitola the Madcap,” is one 
of the most popular stories 
ever issued from the press. 
We doubt if, in all the realms 
of literature, there has ever 
been a heroine who could vie 
with the captivating madcap 
Capitola in exciting the ad- 
miration of readers, or in win- 
ning an d keepin g their hearts, 
^he is so bright, so spirited, 
so beautiful, so sagacious, so 
dauntless, and yet so innocent 
and childlike, that she at once 
takes all readers captive and 
holds them enchained by her 
fascinations clear to the last 
page of the story. 

The way in which Capitola 
outwits, overcomes and cap- 
tures the mgantic and brutal 
robber, Black Donald, when 
he had concealed himself in 
her lonely room at the dead 
of night, and chuckled with 
fiendish glee to think he had 
the bewitching girl in his power, is one of the most thrilling chap- 
ters in the entire range of romantic literature. 

“ The most valuable and popular story ever published in the Isew 
York iedger was Mrs. Southworth’s ‘Hidden Hand.^ So great was 
the demand for it that it was repub lished in the Ledfier three times ! 
The cry came from everywhere : ‘ Publish this great story in book 
form V And now it is published in book form, and is eagerly read 
by tens of thousands of admirers.” — Passaic City Herald. 


For sale by all Booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on re- 
ceipt of price, by 


EOBERT BONNER’S SONS, PubUshers, 

Cor. William and Spruce Sts., New York. 


A New Book by the Author of “ The Beads of 

Tasmer.” 


MRS. BARR’S SHORT STORIES. 

‘‘Femmetia’s Strange Experience” and 
Other Stories. 


BY 

AMELIA E. BARR, 

Author of ‘‘ The Beads of Tasinerf Love For An Hour Is 
Love For ev erf A Bister to Esauf Jan VeddeTs 

Wifef ‘^Friend Olivia f A Bow of 

Orange Ribbon f etc.^ etc, 

12mo. 350 Pagres. With Portrait of the Author and Numerous 

Illustrations. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


All admirers of Mrs. Barr’s novels will be glad to possess a col- 
lection of her short stories. No writer of the day has won an 
honorable place in the literary world by more thorough and ad- 
mirable work. For many years a contributor to the best period- 
icals, her shorter tales afforded the training by which she rose to 
higher flights in her more extended works. We read the 
short stories of a great writer with curiosity to see what strikes 
the eye and mind in moments of relaxation and at play. These 
short stories of Mrs. Barr are full of happy thoughts, situations, 
incidents, poetry and wisdom. They supply agreeable diver- 
sion for many a leisure moment. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A NEW NOVEL 

By the Popular Author, Mrs. Amelia E. Barr. 

A Cheap Edition; Price, 50 Cents. 

THE BEADS OF TASMER. 


BY 

MRS. AMELIA E. BARR. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


12mo. 395 Fag-es. Handsomely Bound in Engrlish. Cloth. Uniform 
with “A Matter of Millions” and “The Forsaken Inn,” By 
Anna Katharine Green. Price, $1.25. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


The Beads of Tasmer,” by Mrs. Amelia E. Barr, is a power- 
ful and interesting story of Scotch life. The singular and stren- 
uous ambition which a combination of ancient pride and modern 
greed inspires; the loveliness of the Scotch maidens, jDoth High- 
landers and Lowlanders ; the deep religious nature of the people ; 
the intense manifestation of these characteristic traits by Scotch 
lovers of high and low degree ; the picturesque life of the coun- 
try, involving the strangest vicissitudes of fortune and the exhibi- 
tion of the most loving and loyal devotion, constitute a theme 
which is of the highest intrinsic interest, and which is developed 
by the accomplished authoress with consummate art and irresist- 
ible power. The Beads of Tasmer ” is certainly one of Mrs. 
Barr’s very best works, and we shall be much mistaken if it does 
not take high rank among the most successful novels of the 
century. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


An Insignificant Woman 


51 Storg of ^Irtist iCife. 

BY 

W. Heimburg. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 

By MARY STUART SMITH. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS, 

12mo. Beautifully Illustrated. Handsomely Bound in Cloth., 
Price, $1.00. Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This is a matchless story. It is a vindication of woman. It 
ends finely, so as to bring out beautifully the glorious character 
of the heroine, the insignificant woman. The combination of 
the artistic and practical in this story makes it peculiarly suited 
to the taste of our times. It is impossible to imagine more 
beautiful and effective lessons of magnanimity and forbearance, 
strength and gentleness, than are inculcated in this novel. 
Every woman who lives for her children, her husband and her 
home will find her heart mirrored in the pages of this fascinating 
story. It is told in a manner that must please all readers, and is 
exquisitely rendered in the translation. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New Vork. 


A CAPITAL AMERICAN STORY. 


UNDER A CLOUD. 

BY JEAN KATE LUDLUM, 

Author of Under Oathf etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


12ino. 300 Fagres. With Numerous Illustrations. Handsomel 3 ^ 
Bound in Cloth, Price, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


It was once asked by a celebrated Englishman : Who reads 
an American Book?^* The question is no longer a conundrum. 
American books are the popular reading of the present day. 

Under a Cloud** is a spirited and pathetic account of the trials 
of a New York lady, who, in consequence of a promise wrung 
from her by her father, is put into relations with her husband 
which are almost unprecedented. The chain of circumstances 
by which the husband is implicated in a crime and the heroic 
efforts of the wife to traverse this chain and unravel the mystery 
make a history of overpowering interest. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER*S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A SON OF OLD HARRY. 

a Nooel. 

BY 

ALBION W. TOURGEE, 

Author of A FooPs Errand f Bricks Without Straw f 
Figs and Thistles f Hot Plowshares f etc, 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 

12mo. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.60. 


Judge Tourgee gives to his admirers fresh cause of rejoicing, 
in his new novel, A Son of Old Harry.” Nothing more origi- 
nal and more true to life and nature has ever appeared in America 
than this story of the Kentucky blue-grass region and its horses 
and horse-loving people. No reader of his novels needs to be 
told that Judge Tourgee loves a horse. His horses are some- 
thing more than mere incidents or furniture ; they are actual 
characters, and so linked with the personality and fortunes of his 
people that they are essential to the action and development ol 
the novel. In A Son of Old Harry,” he has given a free rein 
to his pen in dealing with a subject so near his heart. It contains 
the best that he has to give on the subject. The sweet and pure 
love history, which forms the groundwork, and the thrilling inci- 
dents of the war in Kentucky, which form an important part, 
give the novel immense interest. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York 


The Breach of Custom 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 


BY 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey 


WITH CHOICE ILLUSTRATIONS BY O. W. SIMONS. 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 


This is a translation of an interesting and beautiful German 
novel, introducing ar. artist and his family, and dealing with the 
most pathetic circumstances and situations. The heroine is an 
ideal character. Her self-sacrifice is noble and exalted, and the 
influence which radiates from her is pure and ennobling. Every 
one who reads this book will feel that it is one which will be a 
life influence. Few German stories have more movement or are 
more interesting. There are great variety and charm in the 
characters and situations. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of 
price by 

ROBERT BONNER^S SONS, Publishers, 

182 William Street, New York, 


MRS. HAROLD STAGG 


/' 

A NOVEL. 


BY 

Robert Grant, 

Author of ‘‘Jack Hall,” etc. 


Beautifully Illustrated by Harry C. Edwards. Paper Cover, 60 
Cents. Bound in Cloth, $1.00. 


This is a brilliant novel, in which the author has given a free 
rein to his undoubted faculty for social satire. Mrs. Harold 
Stagg is a capital portraiture whose prototype may be found in 
the drawing-rooms of New York, Boston and Newport. The 
story is told with the amusing and quiet cleverness which has 
made the author’s reputation, and contains many striking ideas 
which will cause Society’s backbone to creep. Like “ The Anglo- 
maniacs,” it places its heroine under a cross-fire from a wealthy 
swell and a talented youth to fame and fortune unknown — a 
situation which allows Mr. Grant an opportunity to exhibit 3 
very interesting and unselfish type of the young American 
woman. In despite of the satire of which Mrs. Harold Stagg is 
the object, every man will like that lady for herself, even thoug> 
he may not be as blindly devoted as her husband. 


THE IMPROVISATORE; 

OR, 

LIFE IN ITALY. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH OF 

Hans Christian Andersen, 

By MARY HOWITT. 

ILLUSTRATED BY RABBI O. EDWARDS, 


12mo. Boimd in Cloth, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is an entrancing romance dealing with the classic scenes 
of Italy. To those who desire to behold with their own eyes 
those scenes, it will create a fresh spring of sentiment, and fill 
them with unspeakable longing. To those who have visited the 
fair and memory-haunted towers and towns of Florence, Rome 
and Naples, it will revive their enthusiasm and refresh their 
knowledge. Andersen published this novel immediately after 
his return from Italy, and it created an extraordinary effect. 
Those who had depreciated the author’s talent came forward 
voluntarily and offered him their homage. It is a work of such 
singular originality and beauty that no analysis or description 
could do it justice, and the universal admiration which it at once 
excited has caused it to be read and reread throughout the world. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt oi price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


COUSIN PONS 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 

HONORE DE BALZAC. 


12mo. 439 Pagres. With Twelve Beautiful and Characteristic 

Illustrations by Whitney. Handsomely Bound in Cloth, Price, 
$1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Cousin Pons is one of the most interesting characters in the 
whole range of Balzac’s wonderful creations. Balzac penetrated 
human nature to its depth. There is scarcely a type which 
evaded his keen eye. His characters are types of the living, 
human world swarming at his feet. His creations are as real as 
noble peaks standing out against an evening sky. In every one 
of Balzac’s novels there is a great human lesson. There is not a 
volume you can open which does not set forth some deep human 
truth by means of characterizations so vivid that they seem to 
breathe. So it is with “Cousin Pons.” After reading it we 
think of him not as a character in a novel, but as a personage — a 
sweet and true soul — a simple enthusiast for art and beauty at 
the mercy of selfish and vulgar harpies. 


THE LITTLE COUNTESS 


BY 

E. VON DINCKLAGE, 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 


By S« E« BOGGS* 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WABBEN B, DAVIS, 


12mo. 318 Pagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 

The Little Countess’^ is a delightful novel. It is full of life 
and movement, and, in this respect, is superior to most transla- 
tions from the German. It is distinctly a story to be read for 
pure enjoyment. The little countess belongs to an ancient and 
noble family. She is left an orphan in a lonely old castle, with a 
few servants and pets. Her heroic temper sustains her in every 
trial. The part played by an American girl in the story is very 
amusing, and shows what queer ideas are entertained of American 
women by some German novelists. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New Vork. 


EUGENIE GRANDET 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 


Honore De Balzac. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JAMES FAGAN. 


12mo. Bound in Cloth, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


‘‘Eugenie Grandet” is one of the greatest of novels. It is the 
history of a good woman. Every student of French is familiar 
with it, and an opportunity is now afforded to read it in a good 
English translation. The lesson of the book is the hideousness 
of the passion of the miser. Eugenie’s father is possessed by it 
in a degree of intensity probably unknown in America, and to 
our public it will come as a revelation. What terrible suffering 
he inflicts upon his family by his ferocious economy and unscru- 
pulousness only Balzac’s matchless narrative could show. The 
beautiful nature of Eugenie shines like a meteor against the black 
background, and her self-sacrifice, her sufferings and her superb 
strength of character are wrought out, and the story brought to a 
climax, with the finest intellectual and literary power and dis- 
crimination. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


GLORIA 


21 Nowl. 

BY 

MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 


Author of ‘‘ The Hidden Handf The Unloved Wifef 
Lilith f ‘‘ Unknown f ‘‘A Leap in the Darkf 
Nearest and Dearest f For Woman^s 

Lovef The Lost Lady of Lonef 
David Lindsay f etc,, etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. A, CARTER. 


12mo. 348 Fagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


The heroine of this novel is one of the most interesting of Mrs. 
Southworth’s charming girls. She is almost as good as Capitola, 
the delightful madcap of “The Hidden Hand.” Her perfect 
naturalness and gayety are so winning that no one can read her 
history without loving her. The story is full of the charm of 
unsophisticated girlhood and womanhood. We are not claiming 
too much when we say that Mrs. Southworth is one of tke most 
engaging writers of fiction that this country has produced. Her 
novels have a larger circulation among the people than those 
of any other American writer. She has the gift of making her 
stories interesting, and filling them with pleasant incidents and 
characters, so that when the reader has finished one he wants 
to take up another. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


“A GOOD FRENCH NOVEI,.” 


MADEMOISELLE DESROCHES 

BY 

Andre Theuriet, 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 


By META DE VERE. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HARRY C, RD WARDS. 


i2mo. 320 Fagres. Hlustrated. Handsomely Bound in Cloth, 
Price, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Andre Theunet is a name well known to readers of choice 
fiction. Her novels occupy a high place in modern French 
literature. Many of them have been translated and published 
here, but this one, so far as we can ascertain, is entirely new. 
It is the story of a French physician’s daughter brought up by a 
French peasant family, whose good sense and delicacy of feeling 
are strengthened by a simple country life. Her subsequent his- 
tory is full of interest, and shows how closely character and truth 
and romance are related. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Tor. William and Spruce Streets. New York. 


A CHEAP EDITION 


In Handsome Paper Cover. Price, 60 Cents. 


The Forsaken Inn. 

By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. 

ILLUSTHATED BT VICTOR PERARD 


Anna Katharine Green’s novel, ‘‘The Forsaken Inn,” is ad- 
mitted to be her best work. The authoress of “ The Leaven- 
worth Case ” has always been considered extraordinarily clever 
in the construction of mystifying and exciting plots, but in this 
book she has not only eclipsed even herself in her specialty, but 
has combined with her story-telling gift a fascinating mixture of 
poetical qualities which makes “ The Forsaken Inn” a work of 
such interest that it will not be laid down by an imaginative 
reader until he has reached the last line of the last chapter. The 
scene of the story is the Hudson, between Albany and Pough- 
keepsie, and the time is the close of the eighteenth century. In 
writing her previous books, the authoress carefully planned her 
work before putting pen to paper, but this story was written in a 
white heat, and under the spur of a moment of inspiration. 

“The Forsaken Inn” would have a large circulation even it 
the author was less well known and popular than Anna Katharine 
Green. With the author’s reputation and its own inherent excel- 
lence, we confidently predict that it will prove the novel of the 
season. 

The illustrations of “ The Forsaken Inn ” are by Victor Perard. 
They are twenty-one in number, and are a beautiful embellish- 
ment of the book. 


REUNITED 


A STORY OF THE CIVIL WAR. 


BY A POPULAR SOUTHERN AUTHOR* 


Illustrated by F. A. Carter. 


Handsomely Decorated Paper Cover, Price, 50 Cents. Bound 
in Cloth, Price, $1.00. 


This is a splendid novel of the late War. It deals with the 
armies and their operations on both sides and shows the feelings 
of brothers who crossed swords in the conflict. The main theatre 
of the incidents is the State of Kentucky and the famous blue- 
grass region celebrated for its beautiful women, its fine horses 
and its more widely known Bourbon whiskey. There is a brisk 
movement in the novel, in keeping with scouting, marching and 
cavalry charging. The author was a soldier, and he has crowded 
his pages with adventures and stories of camp-life, which have 
great interest, and charm one by their truth to nature. Rarely 
has any great crisis produced more heroic spirits than the War 
for the Union. They fought and bled on both sides of the line, 
and this novel commemorates their valor, and shows how true 
•hearts were reunited at the end of the struggle, and that peace 
brought more than mere cessation from strife. This is a novel 
which appeals to every one. 


MISS LIBBEY’S NEW NOVEL. 


lONE. 

By LAURA JEAN LIBBEY, 

Author of “A Mad Betrothal,” “Miss Middleton’s Lover,” “Parted 
by Fate, or The Mystery of Black-Tor liigrhthouse,” etc., etc. 

Paper Coyer, ffO Cents. Pound Toluine, $1.00« 



Miss Libbey is the favorite writer with thousands of her coun- 
trymen and women. She is an American, with all the national 
instincts and sentiments, and her stories are purely American in 
their characteristics and in their description of life and nature. 
Her stories possess the merit of being readable and pleasing. No 
one can take up a novel like lone ” and put it down unread. In 
this respect, her readers owe her a debt of gratitude. She is 
never dull. ‘‘ lone ” will be read, from beginning to end, with 
breathless interest. 

For sale by all Booksellers, and sent, postpaid, on re- 
ceipt of price, by 

ROBERT BONXER’S SONS, FubUshers, 

Cor. William and Spruce Sts., New York. 


THE NORTHERN LIGHT 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 


E. WERNER, 


BY 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey. 


12mo. 873 Pagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth, Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


Since the death of the author of *^01d Ma’mselle’s Secret/* 
Werner is the most popular of living German writers. Her 
novels are written with great literary ability, and possess the 
charm of varied character, incident and scenery. ‘‘ The Northern 
Light ** is one of her most characteristic stories. The heroine is 
a woman of great beauty and strength of individuality. No less 
interesting is the young poet who, from beginning to end, con- 
stantly piques the curiosity of the reader. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of 
price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


WIFE AND WOMAN; 

OR, 

A TANGLED SKEIN. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 

L. Haidheim. 

By MARY J. SAFFORD. 

WiTH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. A. CARTER. 

12mo. Beautifully Illustrated. Handsomely Bound in Cloth, 
Price, $1.00. Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


“ A thoroughly good society novel.” This is the verdict of a 
bright woman after reading this story. It belongs to the Marlitt 
school of society novels, and the author is a favored contributor 
to the best periodicals of Germany. It has a good plot, an 
abundance of incident, very well drawn characters and a good 
ending. There is no more delightful story for a summer holiday. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER^S SONS, 

CoR. William and Spruce Streets, New York 


LITTLE HEATHER-BLOSSOM 


(ERICA.) 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 


FRAU VON INGERSLEBEN, 

BY 

MARY J. SAFFORD. 


WITH ILLU8TBATI0N8 MY WARREN B. 1)AVI8. 


12mo. 470 Fagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This novel is one of the most interesting that has been pub- 
lished in this country, taken from the German. It has more 
variety of character and scenery than is usual in German novels. 
All admirers of Marlitt will find it a novel to their taste. Miss 
Safford, the translator, who was the first to discover the merit of 
Werner and Heimburg, is very partial to it. Among its salient 
points are a wreck, a runaway, life in a castle on the Rhine, with 
its terraces sloping to the river, balls, entertainments and exqui- 
site character sketches. The heroine is one of the loveliest 
creations of fiction. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


Ottilih Aster’s 
Silence. 


A NOVEL. 

Translated From the German 


By MRS. D. M. LOWREY. 

With Niuneroos Choice Ulastrations By Waxren B. Davis. 


Paper Cover, 50 Ceuta Bound Volume, $1.00. 


No moie charming story of the love-life of a married couple 
was ever portrayed in the pages of a novel. Romance does 
not end with marriage, and it does not require any demon- 
stration to prove it; but if it did, this novel shows how great 
are the elements of romantic interest which exist in the marriage 
relation. There is in it the beauty of family life in a pure 
household, and the mother and daughter exhibit all the beautiful 
traits which endear women to men and make the charm of the 
world. 

For sale by all Booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt oi 
price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Corker William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A New Novel by the Author of “Under Oath.” 


JOHN WINTHROP’S DEFEAT. 

BY JEAN KATE LUDLUM. 

ILLUSTRATED BT VICTOR PERARD, 


l2mo. Beautifully Illustrated. Handsomely Bound in Cloth, 
Price, $1.00« Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


Miss Ludlum^s new novel is her best. It is a delightful story 
of life at the famous seaside summer resort on Fire Island, and 
presents a pleasing picture of the gayety and frivolity that reign 
during the heated term in American watering places. There is 
an interesting romance growing out of the vicissitudes of Wall 
Street speculation and the complications of fashionable society. 
The heart of a true woman beneath the silks and laces proves 
stronger than any change that outward fortune brings in the 
circumstances of her life, and she triumphs over every depression. 
There is an abundance of incident, and the scene of the story 
ranges from New York to California, and from Paris to Florence. 
The illustrations add much to the beauty of the book. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A CHEAP EDITION 

In Ornamental Paper Cover. Price, 50 Cents. 


A NEW NOVEL 

By the Author of “The Forsaken Inn.” 

A MATTER OF MILLIONS. 


BY 

Anna Katharine Green. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY YIOTOR PERARD. 


12mo. 482 Fagres. Handsomely Bound in Engrlish Cloth Gold 
Stamping: on Cover. Price, $1.50. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This brilliant, artistic novel will enhance the great reputation 
of the popular author of ‘‘The Forsaken Inn.” It is a story 
of to-day. The scene is laid in the city of New York and the 
village of Great Barrington, Mass. The story recites the strange 
adventures of a beautiful heiress who is herself so mysterious a 
creature that the reader cannot fathom her character until the 
final explanation and denouement of the plot. She is an intel- 
lectual and talented girl, whose musical gifts make her admired 
and beloved by her own sex, and the object of passionate adora- 
tion by the other sex. The artistic life is pictured and exempli- 
fied by two of the principal characters in the story. Everything 
conspires to make the story one of strong dramatic interest. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


(esar Birotteau 

from the French of 

HoNORE De Balzac 

With Fourteen Ohoioe Illustrations 
By HARRY G. EDWARDS. 

Pa,per Corer, 50 Cents. Sound in Clotli^ $1«00. 



The novels of Honore De Balzac are among the greatest works 
of the kind that any country has produced. That they go deeper 
into the human heart, represent more truly human passions, anc 
reflect with greater accuracy the multiform phases of human life 
than the works of any other novelist is claimed for him by some 
of the foremost critics of the world. Cesar Birotteau is one of 
his most beautiful and characteristic novels. 

For sale by all Booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on re- 
ceipt of price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Cor. William and Spruce Sts., New York. 


THE LEDGER LIBRARY. 


1 .- 
2 . 

3 . - 

4. - 

5. - 

6 . 

7. - 

8 . 

9. 

10 . 
11 . 
12 . 

13. 

14. 

15. 

16. 

17. 

18. 

19. 

20 . 
21 . 
22 . 

23. — 

24. 

25. 

26. 

27. 

28. 

29 

30. 

31. 

32, 

33, 

34 


HER DOUBLE LIFE. By Mrs. Har- 
riet Lewis. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 
■UNKNOWN. By Mrs. Southwoinli. 
Cloth, $1.00 : paper, 50 cts. 

THE GUN3IAKER OF MOSCOW. By 
Sylvanus Cobh, Jr. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 
2o cts 

MAUD MORTON. By Major A. R. 
Calhoun. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 
THE HIDDEN HAND. By Mrs. 
Southworth. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 
SUNDERED HEARTS. By Mrs. Har- 
riet Lewis. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

THE STONE-CUTTER OF LISBON. 

By Wm. Henry Peck. Cloth, $1.00; 
paper, 50 cts. 

LADY KILDARE. By Mrs. Harriet 
Lewis. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

-CRIS ROCK. By Captain Mayne Reid. 
Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

NEAREST AND DEAREST. By Mrs. 
Southworth. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 
THE BAILIFF’S SCHEME. By Mrs. 
Lewis. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 60 cts. 

-A LEAP IN THE DARK. By Mrs. 

Southworth. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 
-HENRY M. STANLEY. By H. F. Red- 
dall. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

-THE OLD LIFE’S SHADOWS. By 
Mrs. Lewis. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

-A MAD BETROTHAL. By Laura Jean 
Libbey. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

-THE LOST LADY OF LONE. By Mrs. 

Southworth. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 
-lONE. By Laura Jean Libbey. Cloth, 
$1.00 ; paper 50 cts. 

-FOR WOMAN’S LOVE. By Mrs. E. D. 
E. N. Southworth. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 
50 cts. 

-CESAR BIROTTEAU. By Honore De 
Balzac. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

THE BARONESS BLANK. By 
Niemann. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 
-PARTED BY FATE. By Laura Jean 
Libbey. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

-THE FORSAKEN INN. By Anna 
Katharine Green. Cloth, $1.50 ; paper, 
50 cts. 

OTTILIE ASTER’S SILENCE. 

Translated from the German. Cloth, 
$1,00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

ED DA’S BIRTHRIGHT. By Mrs. Har- 
riet Lewis. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 
THE AliCHEMIST. From the French 
of Honore De Balzac. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 
50 cts. , , 

UNDER OATH. — An Adirondack 
Story. By Jean Kate Ludlum. Cloth, 
$1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

-COUSIN PONS. From the French of 
Honore De Balzac. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 
50 cts. 

-THE UNLOVED WIFE. 

E. N. Southworth. Cloth, 

50 cts. 

—LILITH. By Mrs. E. D. 

worth. Cloth, $1.00 paper, 50 cts. 
—REUNITED. Bv A Popular Southern 
Author. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 
—MRS. HAROIiD STAGG. By Robert 
Grant. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 
—THE BREACH OF CUSTOM. From 
the German. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 
—THE NORTHERN LIGHT. Trans- 
lated from the German of E. Werner. 
Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

.—BERYL’S HUSBAND. By Mrs. Har- 
net Lewis. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 


By Mrs. E. D. 
$1.00; paper, 

E. N. South- 


35. — A LOVE MATCH. By Sylvanus 

Cobb, Jr. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

36. — A MATTER OF BULLIONS. By Anna 

Katharine Green. Cloth, $1.50; paper, 
50 cts. 

37. — EUGENIE GRANDET. By Honore 

De Balzac. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

38. — THE IMPROVISATORE. Translated 

from the Danish of Hans Christian 
Andersen. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

39. -PAOLI, THE WARRIOR BISHOP, 

or The Fall of the Christians. By W. 
C. Kitchin. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

40. — under a cloud. By Jean Kate 

Ludlum. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

41. — WIFE AND WOMAN. Translated 

from the German by Mary J Safford. 
Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts. 

42. -AN INSIGNIFICANT WOMAN. 

Translated from the German of W. 
Heimburg. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

43. — THE CARLETONS. By Robert Grant. 

Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

44. — M A D E M O I S E L LE DESROCHES. 

Translated from the French of Andre 
Theuriet. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

45. — THE BEADS OF TASMER. By 

Amelia E. Barr. Cloth, $1.25 ; paper, 
50 cts. 

46. -JOHN WINTHROP’S DEFEAT. ^By 

Jean K. Ludlum. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50c. 

47. -LITTLE HEATHER - BLOSSOM. 

Translated from the German, by Mary J. 
Safford. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

48. -GLORIA. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. South- 

worth. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

49. — DAVID I.INDSAY. A Sequel to Gloria. 

By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. Cloth, 
$1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

50. — THE LITTLE COUNTESS. Trans- 

lated from the German by S. E. Boggs. 
Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

51. — THE CHAUTAUOUANS. By John 

Habberton. Cloth, $1.25 ; paper, 50 cts. 

52. -THE TWO HUSBANDS. By Mrs. 

Lewis. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper 50 cts. 

53. - MRS. BARR’S SHORT STORIES. 

By Amelia E. Barr. Cloth, $1.25 ; paper, 
50 cts 

54. - WE PARTED AT THE AI.TAR. By 

Laura Jean Libbey. Cloth. $1.00 ; paper, 
50 cts 

55. -WAS SHE WIFE OR WIDOW By 

Malcolm Bell. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

56. — THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. By Hon- 

ore De Balzac. Cloth, $1 .00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

57. -FLORABEL’S LOVER, or Rival 

Belles. By Laura Jean Libbey. Cloth, 
$1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

58. — LIDA CAMPBELL. By Jean Kate 

Ludlum. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

59. -EDITH TREVOR’S SECRET. By 

Mrs. Lewis. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

60. -CECIL ROSSE. A Sequel to Edith 

Trevor’s Secret. By Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 
Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

61. — LOVE IS LORD OF ALL. Translated 

from the German, by Mary J. Safford. 
Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

62. — TRUE DAUGHTER OF HARTEN- 

STEIN. From the German, by Mary J. 
Saft’ord. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

63. -ZINA’S AWAKING. By Mrs. J. Kent 

Spender. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

64. -MORRIS J ULI AN’S WIFE. By Eliza- 

beth Olmis. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 

65. — DEAR ELSIE. Translated from the Gex- 

man, by Mary J. Safford. Cloth, $1.00; 
paper, 50 cts. 


THE POPULAR SERIES. 

1_XIIE OETCAJ^'r OF A Companion Story to “The 

Gunmaker of Moscow.’^ By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper Cover. Price,, 
25 Cents. j 

2— ROEEO OF NOKMAAOV. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper Cover, i! 

Price, 25 Cents. . I 

3— MAiSX SATXEKEEE AlflOACJ XIIE lAOIAAS. By William ' 

O. Stoddard. Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. {' 

4— KIX CARSOA’S EA^X XRAII.. By Leon Lewis. Paper Cover. 

Price, 25 Cents. i 

5— XHE SFOi'KOE OF OAJHANEFS. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper 

Cover. Price, 25 Cents. - 

6— XIIE GREAX REAXOi^^ FEEI>. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. ; 

Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. i 

HATIIROAO XHE miser. By Wm. Tl^nry Peck. Paper 
Cover. Price 25 Cents. 

8— XME COASFIRAXOR OF FOROOVA. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

9— XME FORXEI^'ES OF FOARAM. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper 

Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

10— XME l>IAMOAl> SEEKER OF KRAZIE. By Leon Lewis. 

Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

11— XIIE RORRER COEAXESS. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper 

Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

12— Rl‘X.1 RERIO. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. Paper Cover. Price, 

25 Cents. ^ 

13— XHE ROYAE OEXEAAV. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper Cover. 

T^rioc 2^ Gxi ts 

14— XBIe’ RAARIX OF SARACESE. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper 

Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

15— Ri^RERICK OF KIERARE. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper 

Cover. Price, 25 Cents. . 

IG— XIIE SERF EOVERS OF SIRERIA. By Leon Lewis. Paper 
Cover. Price, 25 Cents. . . 

17_KARE XIIE EIOA. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper Cover. 1 rice. 


25 Cents. 

18- XIIE YOEAM CASXAWAYS. By Leon Lewis. Paper Cover. 

Price, 25 Cents. ^ 

19— XHE FAEIFH OF RAOB>Al>. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 1 aper 

Cover. Price 25 Cents. 

VO— XIIE SFECXRE’S SECREX. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper 
Cover. Price, 2 Cents. ^ 

21_XIIE KAIOHX’S HHIXXO. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 1 aper Cover. 
X^i*i.c0 25 Clouts 

22— AI.ARI(.% or *XHE XYRAAX’S VAEEX. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

23— XHE SXOEEA VAIE. By E. Werner, ^d XHE EASIOAER 

AAIIiE. From the German. Paper Cover. Price, 2o Cents. 

24— XHE EXEFE'IXOAER OF VExAICE. By Prof. Wm. Henry Peck. 

Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Sts., New York. 







^ .ft* ^‘ - vT •••.♦ ? ‘ ^T- . v’^ TlT^ , - 

;'' w" -r, % .f ii .A •-. .tA'iVi^V^r, 
'4s > - v V ’ ' 

* ' ' ;•' '■ •>>* . •; ; .'. . ■ *■ - f i' * ‘ \ ' . 


.' i' 

*.*'- 


s: 




^ v’ 


“ * y •'[: • 


*.• • 






^.\. :r 


. i 


s.% H, , 


'■* *-'v ‘ ' v'a^ ; ' , * ^ ‘ >• *^*7^'*’ 

V « .. Vrv. ..fr^XM 




‘.'Vi ■ ^- 




rWi,) 


y 


\ ‘V r 

r-'/ Jt: 

^ # ‘ • • I > ? ' 


r ' •tw''.*'^!'- • . 

, ^ ■ - 4 i-s. 




• .v'Wi'. 

'.■* V f '• . '^ ' • . 




:J 27 




sx ■. x , # ; X , :x ■ - • i V 

;/ - ., -r-vr..-. --Y' , ^-jJuinMa 


. '<* •? 


ii • • ' ^iiv- '-t " ' . 4 '' ««»« 

WmSm Ki- '' -:.fV *lHH9BBK' .*‘'‘•.^>.1 . -v/iZIi.nj 


v»- 


' ?.»'’•/ v^ K / ' ■ 

“ I '• T ■? ‘, 

:*■; ' *1': 







■. i^.^f ;i*v’;%4s •' -. > 



' '^'-i '■' 


•• .3 . 


>•^"*' • > 


iii*' . -.■■■c-.iai^ ■' ,.-^vV' 'x' 

, ,. . ^ ; ’V ^ i. 'S ■/ ■'; ■ ■• 







■ ’ ; , 4'rf;4^:!£V.*fi 

*; ' to 




v/ ■?■ 




V ^..-sli- 

V' . .'■X 




? . v*/l.\ft < 

.' lo 


^,0 - '*iv * 



X '\5* ••tj,. 

^ V ...V, 


',:x 

- •' f " • ■' 


'•*S 

' • . 

;#- -.^. t > 

, ^ .• ^ .. 






,■ -V ,. v: 


, .V 


, 4 ' •N-'? ‘ ' J 

* * • . ✓ ^ y.* 


# >* .._ ' /• ' 


.m l.‘ -'.;x:;;,A-;i;,,c::^‘i;:S^E ■■ 







j • 






y . 


V’. 




i .4rt - 




•, :*/• ^Uiij4 . ■' ■dz/ vf^ ~ i : W^:^.!lA^i1 . 






4 





i 


• i 

V) 

( 

* 

I 


I 

1 


a 







« 



^4 




V 






h t' 

■: • ■ 


' ; M' 

. ■• i. 



I 


• • 1 

• V* 


\ 


$ 


r 


\ 

I 


I 




5 , 

» 

» 

I 

• I 

I 

i 


I 


■ 


) 


> 


« 

\ 


i 

f 


T 



X 


» 





^ . t 


% 


I 

4 

4 


.• « 

r 

W 4 • * • 

• f 




r 


t 







I 




4 


. ^ 


s 


I 

. -J 

■ ,• I 



. ■“’i* 




/ 


» 


r . 

f I 


> « 


> ' 




L»\ 


'^i\' i' ■’' 
_1M^.' *'• ; T .i '* 


_ - 


f 

r. ' . 


-*% t ' 





i/.j^ 





-,»v:- - sr’ . 

V :• 


i J 


mm 





}:‘. vV 



- * f • 1 i .* j - * 

- ■ '■ -- 



f'/y • •*h - * '*%. 

‘W. 


' - 

-t '/ 


' * !% 'I •* 

BRIBP' ^ 


M' >, 


Si . ■ > 

[■ ■ ■ ‘5-. ^ 





kti .' y ‘ •. 


'-■ ■ V V - * . • - __ 

- ■' 




E‘ ' ^i'“V ■• ^ \' " ' « i* 


f . .» --u ^ 


'■4h . 


S? 


> :S>-'' ■-■ •,■' 

. ' S'. * 


I ^ ' '■ ■■ ir «i ■ ■■ •■' 

*' V-i It,,.-* ;■•'■■ .' '•'. >.- 


■’ 

■ ii-iCT' ^ . 





^:.'jnn "^t . 


liiVi'f , Bit;'. ^ M . f 


■if*. O'... 


f - . 





'V 
- r 


‘A 



4 ■■ 




I- 




' ..'■>: ' .. ?v-..M<E5r 




1 ^ I > B'v , • ^jfii|3Q| 

‘ K "“ r>-' •'•■ * ^ « 


• VI 


.i» • 

* < • 


•-V*. 





‘ t 






. ^ ! J 





library of congress 


D001S0034^S 









